


British Sign Language For Dummies: How To Seduce Your Quartermaster

by IAmNotOneOfThem



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Disability, And he struggles a lot, BSL, British Sign Language, Deaf!Q, Disability, James has to learn sign language in order to seduce Q, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotOneOfThem/pseuds/IAmNotOneOfThem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q spoke with his hands, his beautiful silent hands, and James tried to listen.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(Or in which Q is deaf, but is perfectly capable of working, and in which James tries to use his hands for something besides shooting.)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the cover for this FF drawn by the awesome rerumfragmenta on tumblr! Seriously!
> 
> http://rerumfragmenta.tumblr.com/post/42516885342/bslfordummies

The new Q was a young man with a mop of hair on top of his head, a bony figure and ridiculously big glasses on his nose which were constantly slipping down and having to be pushed up again.

James had mistaken him for a minion first, because in the time of shiny and explosive guns, exploding pens and invisible cars using gunpowder as fuel, people as young as this boy were at the bottom of the food chain.

They could make coffee, sit in front of a computer and feel special or important, but in the end they always ended up being the most trivial and unimportant part of the animal kingdom of Q-branch.

It wasn't James' term but the old Q's, and in memory of the old man James decided to keep on using it silently and without ever mentioning it

Perhaps he could have figured out by the way this boy was dressed, because while he kept up the old Q's tradition of giving his minions jumpers or shirts, he had the tie.

It was, as far as James was concerned and had been informed, the sign of their leader, and hence the obvious trait of the Quartermaster and not a minion. Now and then R, whenever the Quartermaster wasn't in his branch, but that had happened close to never.

James sometimes had returned from a mission to find the old man sleeping on his desk in a position which left him with an aching back or neck. Most of the time both.

This boy also wore a name tag with a capital Q written on it, but one might excuse James for not immediately spotting it on his hip because he had been distracted.

He had to admit this boy was rather handsome, if one was attracted to the innocent and young type with a baby-face, fluffy hair and a habit of dressing in cardigans which made him appear older. He had interesting eyes and delicate features, and was almost as tall as James.

A bit too much bones and not enough fat, which made James wonder about how much stress one could put him through without breaking him. He could, James thought as he watched the young man shift from one foot to the other, break him in half easily with one simple snap.

Not that he planned on doing that, but he could and that thought was enough for James to keep a more than appropriate distance. He didn't want to end up breaking any of the man's bones, unimportant as he might have been.

They had been standing in front of each other for five minutes at least, minutes in which James had stared at the man and the man at him with an eyebrow raised, standing there in complete silence.

This room in general, the hardly used office of the Quartermaster in the heart of Q-branch, was silent. No music like the classical music the old Q had played, no computers humming or clocks ticking, no alerts, not a single sound.

James could hear his blood rush through his veins in his ears and hear his heart beat.

It was too loud, and he cleared his throat after a while.

Only when the young man turned around, took a cup and drank from it did James realise that this was Q - because no one else drank from a Scrabble mug but the Quartermasters - and he suddenly felt old.

He was used to an elder, grey-haired Q with tiny glasses on his nose, running around in a lab coat and smelling of gunpowder. This Q was bloody young, had messy dark brown hair and oversized glasses, wore a cardigan and could hardly be older than twenty.

James let out some air through his nostrils, inhaling sharply before he decided to break the silence. It was becoming unnerving.

"You must be joking."

There was silence, and Q frowned at him. He contracted his eyebrows, mouth closed and lips a thin line, eyes sharp as they roamed over Bond, something James was used to but never under such conditions.

As Q lifted his hands, James was faintly sure that there was confusion written across his features, because what was he doing?

There wasn't a gadget in the Quartermaster's hands like James was expecting, no pen, paper, gun, radio or files for his next mission. All he saw were empty, pale hands with thin wrists, and long spidery fingers made for work on a computer or laptop.

Those hands were empty. And James had no idea what Q wanted to do with them as he balled them into fists except for the index fingers whose tips were pressed together, and he had absolutely no idea why Q was drawing a square in the air.

A square. No words of explanation, nothing, no instruction or 'Look here, I can draw a square into the air, watch me!' one might expect from a child and not one of MI6's branch heads. Only a square.

James frowned.

Q repeated the motion, eyebrows contracted in frustration, and as James only raised his own eyebrows the Quartermaster sighed.

He drew a square in the air once again, and James turned to check the door and then the window.

During his time in the Navy he had to learn tactical sign language. Verbal communication during a battle was impossible, and over the distance of two ships next to each other it was easier to sign.

It wasn't much. Counting, some words, commands. But he was sure that Q couldn't mean that, because there was not a single window in the room, the door was fine and he had done the movement wrong. He had started at the top with his fingers pressed together and had signed with both, while the sign for door and window were signed with one finger.

Soldiers didn't have two hands available, most of the time, with a gun or rifle in their primary hand.

James lifted his hands to the side, holding them up with contracted eyebrows - _I don't understand_.

Q's left hand was put next to his ear and he shook his head, then made a gesture in front of his lips, shaking his head again.

Oh.

Bond blinked a few times, stunned – probably for the first time in his life - because he had expected many things, but not a deaf Quartermaster.

Millions of questions rushed through his mind, millions of things he wanted to ask.

How it was possible for a Quartermaster to be deaf, how he was supposed to help agents through missions and guide them and how the hell he had been accepted here? The only disabled agent James had met was a lady from medical, and she was in a wheelchair.

There once had been a minion in Q-branch who couldn't move his head but that hadn't been a disability and more of a slight disadvantage.

James tried to gather together the little information he had about sign language, tried to remember signs besides rifle, shotgun, rally point, hostage, enemy and sniper.

This was an entirely new experience for James, but he was an agent and he could deactivate bombs, it should be possible for him to get through a short introduction with his Quartermaster.

James pointed at himself, then formed a fist with his right hand, holding it up only to lower and lift it again twice, then flexed his pinkie, middle and index finger, the sign for seven.  
Q shook his head, held the index finger of his left hand up and moved it as if he was drawing a line in the air

No, James had no idea what that meant, and he felt a sting of frustration in his belly, hot, ugly and boiling, making him grit his teeth and lick his lip for a moment. He considered getting a pen and paper instead of just making a fool out of himself, but he had his pride.

The younger man gave a sigh, then rolled his shoulders and held both of his hands up.

He counted to seven with his fingers, one, two, three, four, five, then used his second hand for six and seven, and then he stopped and raised an eyebrow. He lowered his right hand again, and formed his fingers into a pistol, now smirking.

James blinked once or twice, did the same as Q and as the young man nodded, James repeated his motions again - _0, 0, 7_.

There was a bit of surprise in Q's eyes as he saw how James was looking at his hands in concentration, not making eye contact with the other. He nodded, a smile lifting the corners of his lips as if he had already known that.

He probably had, James thought, but it was always polite to introduce himself, and since he apparently couldn't say his usual 'Bond, James Bond' it was the least he could do.

Q held his hands up to sign, and James wondered what now.

Showing James the palm of his right hand, Q drew an invisible line from the tip of his middle finger down to the middle of his palm, drawing a curve to his thumb. He mouthed something James couldn't understand, but kept on signing anyway.

Left index finger pointing at the right thumb and as Q mouthed something, James understood it was _a_. Three fingers of his left hand pressed against the palm of his right, middle finger and index of his right pressed together with his index pointing at them. Pinkie hooked over the other pinkie, _s_.

He repeated it, and stunned to silence James repeated it after him, hand motions clumsy and almost like a stutter while Q's were fluid and almost beautifully elegant, with practised ease.

 _J.a.m.e.s_.

Q was signing his name.

It was much more complicated than the easy way of just saying it, and fingerspelling always was more of a challenge than giving a person a nickname to sign. James had been called 'ice' before, because of his eyes, or 'handsome' by a superior with a sense of humour

James tried to repeat it without Q but practically stumbled over his fingers, and as he looked up he could see Q laugh noiselessly.

It made his eyes sparkle and glasses slip down, but he looked younger than before, and James had to return the smile, though he first faked a pout.

 _B_ was the fingertips of Q's hands being pressed together in a way children used to indicate fake glasses, and as James repeated the motion he looked up to see Q mouth the letter.

 _O_ was the index of Q's left hand pointing at the ring finger of Q's right.

 _N_ was almost like _M_ and James was confused for a moment before he realised that it wasn't the latter. Two fingers pressed together against the palm of his right hand.

D was an easy sign and James repeated it, forming a half-circle with his index and thumb pressed against his right index finger.

Q nodded, repeated it again, and gave a smile as James did it right.

Had he felt stupid before, he now was curious. He had never imagined signing to be this complicated, especially since he had been able to make the tactical signs perfectly back in his Navy time.  
Q pointed at himself, then did something close to a salute with two fingers before he signed a _Q_.

James gave his charming smile, not knowing if it was genuine or not - it was hard to tell when you don't smile, and James usually didn't - and made a wave. Q waved back, a faint blush around his nose.

Q gave him the instructions for the mission without any signing, but with yellow sticky notes put on the envelope, box and radio.

It was amusing. It also showed James that Q had a neat yet curved handwriting, and he decided to keep the notes to make fun of Q later. Maybe one day he would be able to put them all on a wall in Q-branch just because he could.

As James was about to turn around and leave, Q tapped him on the shoulder.

James' first instinct was to turn around, take the new gun and aim for his head, but he didn't and just raised an eyebrow at the younger man, who raised both in return.

Q let go of him again, took a step backwards and lifted his hand thumbs-up, before tapping his own nose with his index finger, moving the hand down again.

Even James understood that.

He lifted his hand, index finger and thumb pressed together, the other's stretched away in an _I understand_ and then turned around, heading outside to the car waiting to take him to the airport.

The voice in his ear later, as he tried to get his mission done, was a minion James had never heard before, young and naive, shocked and crying as James shot someone straight through the head.

There was a sting of something inside James and he wondered why. Was it the disappointment of not being able to flirt with Q or was it something else? He had been aware of the other changes in the Six's structures, but a Quartermaster not monitoring his agents was a thought James found strangely bothering.

"Q wants me to tell you to stop staring at the wall and move, if you don't want other agents to have to go out and search for your body parts," the minion in his ear said, and James blinked.

So Q was watching?

He turned to the camera, gave a wink and signed _Q_ , and he liked to believe that he had made Q smile.

James turned around again, focused on the mission.

He could flirt with Q later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1 - thank you so much :)


	2. Chapter 2

For once in his whole career in MI6 James didn't protest as he was called to M's office, and for once he was punctual and not at least one hour too late. M was just as shocked as Moneypenny was, it seemed.

James sat down in front of him, reaching out to the glass filled with something which might have been scotch but now reminded him of the acid he had been forced to drink once, rough and disgusting and burning in his throat but alcoholic enough to satisfy him for the moment. He raised an eyebrow at him, and M did the same in return, sipping at the glass as if it was James’.

Mallory really shouldn't drink at work, he thought, downing the glass in one gulp, it would only influence his ability to make decisions.

Who knew, one day he could end up giving the command to shoot at him like the M before him, and James would rather have him sober then so he could blame him and not the alcohol-level in his blood. He knew the power of this simple excuse.

It wasn't his fault the target’s wife liked to drink a lot with the men she wanted to cheat on her husband with, and it wasn't his fault the target had arrived to see James fuck his wife in their bed. It also wasn't his fault that said husband had happened to have a rifle with him.

The damage to the hotel wasn't that bad, M was just exaggerating things.

At least the target was dead, his wife too, and nothing led back to England. The mission was successful.

"Your scotch was better in my memory," Bond commented as M still hadn't said anything, but just stared at him with a cold, emotionless glare.

It made agents whimper, minions cry, blood freeze and terrorists piss themselves. James just smirked, lifted the empty glass as if in a toast.

It was nothing like the old M's, and had he been her, James might have listened. But this wasn't his M, his M was dead after the events around Skyfall.

Most of the people involved still hadn't recovered. James just was glad that they had sent him away on his next mission immediately.

"What makes you think I would give you the good scotch if I happened to have it?" M's voice finally broke the silence and James leant forward to pay attention, "Your last mission didn't go well."

He raised an eyebrow. "The target is dead, so is his wife. I destroyed the information he wanted to sell - how is that not well?"

"Half of the hotel was destroyed."

James sighed, looking down on the empty glass. What he would do to get a bit more scotch; he'd kill to get his fingers on the old M's good stuff. It was famous within the walls of MI6, and Moneypenny had some interesting stories to share about how M negotiated with the heads of other countries to obtain it.

The one with the PM and the whiskey was everyone's favourite, though James doubted any of this was true.

"It is not my fault that the target wasn't amused about me bedding his wife," James gave a light shrug, "and it certainly isn't my fault that he tried to shoot my cock off."

M's glance was less than amused and James let his smile drop.

"Next time you want to get your fingers on information try not to cause havoc. Our budget for accidents caused by our least favourite and most suicidal agent is surprisingly low."

James made a hurt face. "Least favourite? And here I was thinking you liked me."

"Don't annoy me, double-oh-seven. It never ends well." M's smile was nothing but polite, but James could easily see through the mask.

The agent fell silent after that and only leant back a bit, folding his hands over his lap. There were questions he wanted to ask, but didn't know whether he should or if it was for once none of his business. He usually never asked, he liked to explore on his own, keep his skills and senses on high-alert and trained, but asking the object of his curiosity would be harder than asking M.

Something rare, James thought, putting the glass onto M's desk.

"Q is quite young, isn't he?" he finally asked, keeping his tone light and neutral, but the intensity in his gaze was easy to catch upon.

M frowned at him. "He is competent and has proven himself more than once, double-oh-seven. You are the last person who should comment on someone's age."

"That hurt," he joked dryly, and threw an arm over the backrest of his chair. "I am not concerned because of his age, M, more because of his disability."

If it was even possible, M's expression darkened more and he folded his hands on the desk in a somewhat defensive posture. Already liking the boy? That was quick, especially regarding someone who just had taken the position a few weeks ago.

James stored the information in the back of his mind, waiting for him to say something.

"He is more than capable, despise the obvious disadvantages. Q is the youngest Quartermaster we ever had, and so far the best." At his silence, M raised an eyebrow at James. "If you have doubts in him and his abilities, then I'm afraid you are in for a surprise. My predecessor knew what she was doing when she offered him the position." M put some files away, then made a gesture to the door. "You are dismissed, double-oh-seven, report to your Quartermaster."

If that wasn't an obvious punch into his stomach and a scolding like the ones he had seen children get, James didn't know what it was. He rolled his eyes and left the room, only being stopped on his way as Moneypenny cleared her throat.

"I, accidentally of course and without any purpose, overheard your conversation with M," she said, stopping her typing to look up at him, "And, strictly hypothetically speaking, should you dare insult Q because he is deaf, I’ll shoot you again and this time I’ll make sure you don’t come back.”

James stopped at this, turning around to face her and her innocent smile, her claw-like fingernails more of a threat than her words.

Smirking at her, he took a step forward, folding his arms behind his back. "Everyone seems to be rather overprotective of our dear Quartermaster."

Moneypenny gave him a grin, showing off her white teeth. "Have you seen him?"

Knowing he would regret it, James nodded. Of course he had seen him, he wasn't blind.

"He's a cutie. We have some wankers here in the building, more than a few, willing to hurt Q in order to get a nice shag and a taste of his skin." She licked her lips, winking predator-like. "A shame he's not interested in women."

"Oh?" James suddenly pricked up his ears, tilting his head at her in interest. "Is that so?"

She raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing, and with a brief nod she reached out to her cup of coffee. Black probably, judging from the scent, and James wished for one right now in order to stay awake for a while longer because he was tired after not sleeping for three days.

"Yes, it is so. Shortly after he got promoted I took him out for a drink." She looked at her nails, faking interest, "He didn't drink anything, says he doesn't like it, but he was quite happy about talking to me."

James paused. "So you can sign?"

Moneypenny nodded. "I know sign language, yes. He's a bit too fast for me, he'd be one of those manic people ranting about everything if he were able to talk, I guess, but I can keep up."  
"And he told you that he is...?"

"Gay." She held her left hand up, palm open and facing upwards. Her right was clutched into a fist with only the thumb extended, and she put her right hand on the palm of her left, wobbling back and forth. "Which is a shame, but all the cute ones are. He also told me he has a cat, adorable thing, he showed me pictures."

James wondered when he had agreed to do small-talk with her, and if he should say something to make her stop before she offered sensitive information, but he was curious about their new Quartermaster.

"I never saw him leave the HQ, how does the cat survive?"

She shrugged. "Maybe a neighbour feeds it. Or he invented a machine which automatically provides food and water." Standing up, she took out a brown bag and opened it, taking out a cupcake.

James frowned. Said nothing, just frowned.

"Q always forgets to eat. Can't just call him and try to make him eat, can I? So I always walk down, I started it as you were busy destroying a hotel."

The agent opened his mouth, but she silenced him. Her high-heels made clicking noises on the ground as she walked around her desk, gave him an amused smile and then left. A bit dumbfounded, James followed if only to see how Q would react.

"A cupcake isn't what I would call a healthy lunch."

"He doesn't like healthy. His sweet tooth is his weak spot," she winked, "Just like his hair, but don't let him know I told you that."

James only nodded numbly, wondering if he was drunk or if the old tension palpable in the air really had been replaced with the power of youth. Cupcakes, winking, chuckling and a Quartermaster maybe two decades younger than Bond.

He suddenly felt very, very old.

As they turned into Q-branch, some minions looked up and nodded to her, others even smiled. Those who did smile however looked a bit shocked as Bond followed Moneypenny with a dark and stony expression, looking as if he was about to kill someone.

Q had his back turned to the entrance, fingers flying over the keys, earphones in his ears and head lowered to look at the screen of his laptop.

Moneypenny approached him without any hesitation, lifted her hand and tapped his shoulder. James made a mental note of that, because apparently it was okay to startle Q if only to get his attention, and as the young man turned around he took his earphones off.

James heard the faint sounds of music playing, and was confused. Q was deaf, why was he listening to music?

Eve lifted her hand to wave, then made a motion as if she was drinking from a cup of tea, only to tap her right hand - formed like a claw - against the top of her left one.

Q grinned and hit the palm of his right hand with his slightly curved left hand, then held both of his hands in front of his hips as if he was picking something up, held them a bit higher and was mouthing something.

Moneypenny chuckled, and James just blinked.

"He calls me _Moneypants_ , the first sign was money-" She repeated it, and James tried to copy it. "And the second pants."

James tried, but he managed to get it wrong and she just chuckled again, while Q looked faintly amused. She then made the signs again.

"Cup and cake. He likes cupcakes so I call him cupcake." She handed the one she had brought over to the Quartermaster who put his fingertips against his chin and drew his hand away, mouthing Thank you, before he turned around to bite into it.

"Did he give you a nickname already, double-oh-seven?"

He shook his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "No, he hasn't. He called me 007 the last few times we saw each other."

Eve suddenly gave a mysterious smile hinting at knowledge and power no one would ever be able to grasp, and James immediately had the feeling that he would regret saying that or even making her acquaintance.

"I'm sure he'll come up with something."

With that she left. From the corner of his eyes James could see that Q was reaching out to his earphones again, risking a glance towards Bond to see if he still was there. His hands stopped in mid-motion, and he tilted his head.

Q took something which James figured was one of those tablet-things, typed something and then showed James the display.

_Is there anything I can help you with or do you plan on staring at me?_

James grinned, then tried to figure out how the tablet worked. He could see the keys of a keyboard on the bottom of the thing and figured he had to press them, but he missed the letter he wanted and instead got the one underneath it.

He cursed, and Q watched him in amusement. After a few moments of struggling to type a word without having to correct it and having to re-type the complete word - why couldn't he just replace the letter, stupid thing - again and again, James managed to write a sentence and showed it to Q.

_M told me I had to report to you._

Q typed, and James wondered how he could be that fast only using one finger at a time.

_Oh I see. Did you return any of the equipment?_

James didn't need to type his reply out. He just shook his head, and mouthed No, which Q understood because he sighed and smacked James on the back of his head.

"Ow!" he said automatically, glaring at Q. "That was unca-"

He stopped, because it was useless to talk, and it was rude. Q raised an eyebrow at him and typed.

_That's what you get for not returning my equipment. Again. Next time I will send you away with a pink sparkling gun shooting perfume._

Bond lifted his hands in a defensive way, formed the sign for Ok and blinked, glance falling on the earphones again.

He carefully reached out, making sure Q saw his movement and wasn't startled, and took one, holding it to his ear.

It took him some moments to recognise it, but as he did he let out a long breath he had been holding, and under Q's intense stare he took the tablet and typed, for once managing it without making a mistake.

_Satie?_

Nodding, Q pointed at himself, then James and then pressed his left palm against his chest - right over his heart - moving it down in a fluid motion.

As James just stared at him blankly, Q let out air through his nostrils like a huff and wrote something on the tablet.

_I want you._

Now this was an opportunity James could hardly miss, and he had to take it or else he'd regret it. With a grin wide enough to nearly split his cheeks, James took the tablet and made sure his hand brushed Q's before he typed.

_Oh, you do? You could have told me earlier, Q, imagine the things we could have done..._

James expected another blow or something worse, but he was met with silence - naturally, he thought, sighing at his choice of words.

As he looked up he could see a blush spread out from the tip of Q's nose to his cheeks, a faint colour. It was a light shade of pink, but in contrast to Q's almost white skin it was painfully obvious and visible. It made James' grin grow, and something dark settle in the bottom of his stomach, something hot and boiling.

Q stared for a few seconds, eyes wide and fingers clutched around his tablet, and James worried that he had broken him, but Q typed something and tried to roll his eyes.

_Funny. It's the title, 'Je te veux'._

_Of course, Q. Keep on telling yourself that._

Q took his tablet away again and James took that as an order to go before he got smacked again. Just as he was about to turn around, he stopped. Carefully, James put the earphone into Q's ear again, wanting to ask why he was doing it but on the other hand not wanting to disturb him any further - it was an interesting emotional conflict of the kind James had never been in before, and he felt himself grow interested.

He gave a wink, watched how Q blushed and then left.

James wondered how Q would react to kidnapping, and if there was a nice restaurant he could take him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1, thank you once again :)


	3. Chapter 3

When James walked down to Q-branch the next time, a few days later, he headed straight to Q's desk, reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

It was the best way to start to communicate with a deaf person, Eve had told him when he had asked her, when it was necessary to get their attention. Tapping on the arm or shoulder was the acceptable way, and anywhere else was considered rude.

A shame, James thought as Q turned around, it would have been fun to see Q's reaction if James patted his head or arse.

Q was listening to music again – a piano version of Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky, as James could tell from the noise coming from the earphones. He had long ago stopped wondering why Q ‘listened’ to music. It was none of his business.

He could ask later. Once he had figured out how to sign ‘music’ without having to ask Eve.

Q tilted his head at James and took out the earphones, which was a stupid move because it didn't make much of a difference, but James appreciated it somehow. It meant that Q was paying attention to him and him only, and couldn't be distracted by something like music.

Reaching out to his tablet, Q was about to type something but James stopped him by wrapping his fingers around Q's wrist. He felt smooth, soft skin under his fingertips, his own calloused and rough from years shooting and killing, and the contrast made a shiver run down his spine.

Q frowned. James lifted his hands up to his lips, hands clutched into fists except for the index and middle finger of each hand, and drew circles in the air while mouthing _‘dinner’_.

The way Q blinked at him and raised his eyebrows made James grin, and he repeated the motion again with his own eyebrow raised to signalise that it was a question. He had no idea how to sign a question mark, and he really didn't want to ask Moneypenny about how because she had been cheeky enough already.

Q held his left hand up, with his index and thumb extended. He held the handshape against his right shoulder with thumb against upper chest and mouthed _‘Why’_.

_‘Because.’_

The Quartermaster raised his eyebrow and signed nothing, which was the equivalent of stunned silence. James was very much aware that 'Because' wasn't a reply nor acceptable, but he was enjoying himself far too much.

Q never shut up, he had noticed. He was almost constantly signing, to give instructions, to rant, curse, or to give an agent his gadgets and be met with confusion because apparently not everyone had yet realised that Q was deaf.

Some minions knew, but the majority did not seem to pay any attention to it. It was like they simply forgot about it, because it didn't matter for them that Q was deaf, he was the best in what he was doing.

The youngest Quartermaster, James thought, and the only person he knew who could dominate an entire room without saying anything, with the minimum of movements and nothing more. He'd tilt his head and watch his minions gasp, because this movement usually meant Q was confused. And if he was confused, then there most likely was a breach in their security or an agent had made a grave mistake.

One the minions would suffer, that was common knowledge. Whether it was the monitoring of the agent or making Q tea, and shame on you if you don't put enough sugar into it.  
Q needed his sugar. No one wanted to see him without it circulating through his system, that was something James had caught on to already. It wasn't hard to miss.

_‘Because’ isn't a reason._

James grinned and patted the left side of his chest with the index finger of his right hand twice, chuckling. _‘Reason’_.

Q scowled, then shook his head. _‘No’_.

Still chuckling, James folded his arms behind his back and tilted his head, trying to look as innocent as possible. Which wasn't much because Q's expression was blank and anything but amused, and behind James someone cleared his throat as if to make James turn around and run while he still could.

It would be amusing were it not that James needed Q on his side, as he wasn't too keen on getting the pink gun of doom.

No one really knew what it was, but Q kept on signing about it and threatened to give it to the next agent who pissed him off. Apparently no one had been willing to take the risk yet.

James lifted his shoulders and hands as if to shrug, then repeated the dinner-motion again. And again. Over and over again, face going from faintly entertained, to smug, to amused. By the time Q was already gritting his teeth, he was grinning, chuckling to himself.

Q signed something James couldn't understand, but he had the feeling he didn't even really want to know it. Instincts, a feeling in his gut, whatever it was, he didn't ask for Q to tell him what that sign meant, and it actually was quite easy to guess.

A minion behind Q gasped and another one blushed.

Making two V-handshapes, Q moved them together and James thought that it resembled two bunnies getting it on. Perhaps it was meant to be that, but he was fairly certain there was a better description.

_‘Dinner?’_

Q sighed and turned around to look at his screen, numbers rushing over it too quickly for the human eye to even analyse more than one at a time. It was binary code, James recognised, a code striking because even he knew what it was for.

He pointed at the computer and tilted his head, frowning in question.

Forming his left hand into a claw-like shape, Q lifted the index finger of his right, pushing his fingers against it. James just raised an eyebrow, the frustration rushing over Q's face almost funny.

Q tried again, and James shook his head, signing _'I don't understand'_.

Pushing his glasses up his nose Q pursed his lips and thought about it for a moment, before holding his index finger up not in a sign, but in a demand for attention. The agent folded his hands behind his back, looking at Q with an intense gaze.

Q held both hands up and typed in the air, pointing at his computer. James nodded, then made a gesture for Q to continue. He had to grin at Q's rather clumsy attempt to explain something without signing, fingers not once stopping as he 'babbled', hands and fingers moving too quickly for James to follow, some vague motions he knew and could translate, but mostly it was just gibberish.

Eventually, Q turned around to his laptop and typed something, fingers flying over the keys. As he turned around again James caught a glimpse of a picture showing a soldier holding a gun in one hand and signing with the other. It made him grin.

Clumsily Q made the sign for _'Enemy'_ in the tactical sign language used by the military, a sign James had used so often in his time in the Navy. _‘Enemy’_ was one of the words he had been able to sign from the beginning on, just like _'Stop'_ , _'Freeze'_ and _'Hostage'_.

Q twined his fingers only to move them away from the other in a motion associated with an explosion, mouthing _‘Boom’_.

James let out an 'Ah' and blinked.

Somewhere, a computer was probably being hacked right now and about to explode, shards and broken pieces of technology raining down around the face of the person in front of it.

Sometimes James wondered if they would have a single chance against Q as an enemy, or if MI6 would go down in flames or if their system would break down right in front of their eyes. Whoever had recruited the young Quartermaster, whoever had made sure he would never be against them unless he went rogue, had done the right thing.

A shiver of pure adrenaline ran down James' spine as he tried to imagine Q as the villain, the one he put the bullet through, but he somehow failed to do so and gave up after two silly attempts.

 _Why?_ James tilted his head curiously and pointed at the computer.

For a moment Q did nothing, but then he grinned and tapped his index finger against his chest. _‘Because.’_

James chuckled. _‘Because isn't a reason.’_

_‘Is.’_

This was getting childish, James thought, mouthing _'Is not.'_ It wasn't signing and he wasn't sure whether Q would understand him or not, but apparently the Quartermaster was capable of reading simple, short words, because he repeated the sign for _'Is'_ , or _‘Be’_ \- James wasn't sure - and smirked.

He looked smug.

 _‘Dinner?’_ James asked once again, persistent and stubborn and not caring about a 'Yes' or a 'No', because if Q would say no, he would try again and again until he could make Q crack. 

Q looked at him in mild annoyance, and his face took on an expression which was the best visual interpretation of 'Are you kidding me?' James had ever seen. He took Q's silence as progress and took a step forward, still enough of a distance away for both of them to be able to sign without getting into the other's way. But finally, after a few moments of waiting for a reply, Q held his hands thumbs up – _‘alright.’_

James’ grin should probably not have been neither human nor possible, with it nearly splitting his face, but he felt triumph and a sense of pride for convincing Q to dinner with him, and the thought of spending an evening in rather lovely company let James forget about his inner turmoil for a moment. Maybe he could take him to a nice Italian restaurant in the heart of London and walk him home afterwards. It was supposed to be quite warm this evening, with a cloudless sky permitting a view of the moon.

James wasn't known to be overly romantic, in fact he always tried to avoid the usual courting and dining and aimed straight at sex and company for a night, but Q wasn't like the women James normally went for. There was something about Q, nonetheless, something about his personality that attracted James in a sense he wasn't familiar with.  
Devouring him, completely and utterly. And oddly, he found himself not minding in the slightest.

Turning around, he cleared his throat, making a minion jump out off her skin. "How do you sign ‘Italian’?"

She blinked once or twice, eyes widening slightly at his restive gaze. "You... erm... Do you mean Italian as in the language, the people or the food?"

James let out a long breath. "Food."

"Well then, you..." Trailing off, the underling pondered for a few moments, before lifting her right hand to her temple, making a motion as if she was knocking against it, then lowered it to her chin and tapped against it with all fingers. "Do that. The first sign is _Italian_ , the second _food_."

"Thank you." James looked back at Q who was frowning, clearly confused about the conversation James had with the minion. The agent repeated her motions and tilted his head, waiting for a reply.

A flash of realisation was visible in Q's features and he fought off a grin, before he nodded and shrugged. _‘Why not’_ , James assumed. He then proceeded to sign, middle finger of his left hand rubbing his shoulder.

James blinked and tried to figure out what it meant. A minion behind him whispered "Address" and with a glance behind him, he noticed that the whole branch was watching them instead of doing their work, some whispering, others staring with an intensity James felt slightly uncomfortable with.

Gesturing for something to write on, James took the offered tablet and quickly typed, having practised a bit with Eve's, an address Q most likely recognised. He then pointed at Q and then the tablet, gesticulating the motion of writing with a pen.

Q took it and typed in his own address with a silent chuckle, tempting James to smile. He banished the thought easily, using a pen lying on Q's desk to write it down on a piece of paper.

"Minion with the stupid glasses, can you tell him that I'll pick him up and that I'll walk him home after dinner", James said without looking away from the paper, noticing Q's raised eyebrow from the corner of his eyes.

He pointed at the minion and held both of his hands open with his palms vertically facing the other. They twisted back and forth at the wrists, then he moved them so his thumbs and index fingers were extended with the tips touching. He moved them apart, signing _'sign'_.

Q nodded and gestured the minion to sign, watching her hands move and her lips part in mouthed words, stumbling and stuttering in the silent way of signing. James could hear Q's chuckle even though it was made without a sound as Q patiently corrected her signing, before he signed _‘Ok. When?’_

_‘Seven?’_

Q's smile was reply enough, and with a charming grin that made the Quartermaster blush lightly, James left, piece of paper in his pocket. Even though it had close to none, he could feel its weight almost reassuringly.

Moneypenny threw a discombobulated look in his direction as he passed her, apparently something about the grin on his face different from his usual, mostly faked, one. He stopped and she did the same, holding the files in front of his chest.

“Have you come from Q-branch, double-oh-seven?,” she asked with a smirk, everything about her posture screaming understanding. “I didn’t know you’ve been given a mission.”

“Oh, I haven’t,” he said, folding his arms behind his back, hiding the paper he had taken out a moment ago. “I was down there for personal reasons.”

“Such as?”

James couldn’t help but grin, tilting his head at her in mocked surprise. “I wasn’t aware of the fact that you can be so curious, Miss Moneypenny.”

Eve gave a light laugh, balancing her plastic cup filled with coffee in one hand, the files in the other. “You obviously plan on taking Q out, don’t you? How come? He doesn’t fit your usual type of target.”

The agent raised an eyebrow. “Target? Now that is a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Considering what they go through once you put your glorious cock inside them, I think it is the only word which really hits the mark.”

“Interesting choice of words,” James commented with a light chuckle. “Well done.”

“Thank you.” Eve lowered her head for a moment and made a noise of amusement, sipping her coffee. “So, why Q? Did you decide to go for men now that you’ve been through every woman available?”

James gave a shrug. “Can’t I take our Quartermaster out to dinner in an Italian restaurant without any bad intentions?” As Eve raised an eyebrow he held his hands up in defeat, and she reached out to take the piece of paper out of his hands. “That’s mine, Miss Moneypenny.”

She only chuckled. “So?” Reading over the paper, she lifted her hand and waved with it, smirking. “Without any intentions, yet he gave you his address?”

“So I can take him home.”

Moneypenny gave a Siamese smile. “Of course, double-oh-seven.” She walked past him, clearly heading back up to M’s office, and James was about to leave too when she called him back. “I’d reconsider your choice of restaurant, by the way, Q doesn’t like Italian.”

James frowned. “He didn’t tell me.”

Eve laughed. “Of course not,” she chuckled, “You don’t know enough signs.”

With that she left him alone, a sigh leaving his mouth. He went through his mental list of restaurants trying to find one he thought Q might like - Chinese, French, something exotic maybe?

Oh, yes, how about Thai?

James easily found the restaurant of his choice and grinned, taking out his phone to make a reservation at Launceston Place for seven pm.

He decided to go home, put on his best suit and prepare himself for the dinner.

He couldn’t wait for the evening to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1, thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

Putting the moiré braces on, James spent one last second making sure they were in the same white as his shirt before he secured the braided ends, and turned around to his jacket.

Skin-tight, with narrow, straight shoulders, three buttons and the narrow lapels rolling at the top one. It still was tight enough for the front to pull open at the top button, but it was classically English, and one of his favourites with typically British hip pockets hardly being visible since they were on a shallow slant, not drawing attention to them.

James picked up his cufflinks, and let the last of the three buttons open like it was supposed to be.

Critically, James turned around, checking his backside, but the vent at his rear prevented it from showing. He put on his watch, checked the time and then - since everything was perfectly in place – put his jacket on.

He smoothed down the wrinkles, eyes fixed on the mirror so everything would be perfect, everything in place like it was supposed to be. Putting on a suit was something he had brought to a flawless art years ago, from the most basic things to the upper class of dress codes all over the world.

Black fabric or grey, nothing too extravagant or eye-catching. Pinstripes, pale large check, small check, houndstooth; polka dots or animal prints weren’t acceptable. To not draw attention to a person due to the suit’s colour or design was the magic, but to attract views by wearing the suit like a second skin. The most tailored yet simple suits were those which James preferred himself and which would catch interest immediately.

This time he had gone with the simple black suit, a black tie and a white silk handkerchief, classic yet striking.

Slipping into his black shoes – Crocket & Jones Highbury model, 3-eyelet derby with Dainite rubber studded soles – and testing their traction, James put down the collar of his jacket so it wouldn’t stand up, and then took his tie.

Simple, soft under his fingers as he draped it around his neck and under his collar, grasping the ends.

Tying a bowtie was easy for those who practised often enough. He crossed the longer end over the shorter one, passed the longer end up through the loop and formed a simple, loose overhand knot, tightening it a bit. Then James pulled the dangling end to the left, folded it back over itself to the right, dropping the raised end over the front of the bow and pinching the left and right sides of the folded ends in front of the dangling end.

One pull, a bit of adjusting, and it was finished.

James wet his lips, ran a hand through his hair, and nodded.

It was twenty minutes after six in the evening, the air outside cold and the sky coloured a dark red mixed with orange, yellow and the tiniest bit of blue almost lost in the swirl and chaos of clouds. 

A phone call from Eve had informed him about Q’s leaving work at five pm, meaning that he had two hours to choose, or buy, a suit and prepare himself for the date.

If that was what this should be labelled – a date.

Bond took his time making last preparations, putting his gun into the inside pocket of his jacket in case of emergency, his phone and a tablet he had bought today especially for this evening going into another pocket. The custom-made jacket would easily hide the bulges items like these would usually cause.

He couldn’t recall the last time he had gone on a first date, or bothered to stay for long enough to go on a second or a third, and those thoughts washed over him in a wave of confusion and mild horror.

Initially he had planned on taking Q out for dinner, accompanying him home and putting him to bed, but there was something else inside him, not only the general interest of a man whose goal it was to taste the Quartermaster’s skin and make him lose all of his control and arrogance. He wanted to make him flush and wriggle, and he wanted him to pant as James took him apart. Mouth parting in silent moans, screams, cries, James’ name in his head.

James Bond wasn’t a jealous man.

He prided himself on an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of women, sex and violence, knew how to take someone apart in the poetic and literal meanings, countries and lives falling under the tips of his fingers. He had seen the world burn, his own house, every single thing he had ever held dear and everything which had once been of value to him.

Lovers dying in his arms, their lives slipping out of his hands like sand.

He wasn’t jealous, by any means, but he was possessive, almost obsessively so.

And apparently part of his brain had decided that Q was his, so the most reasonable and sensible course of action was to make sure that his claim would not only be accepted – there was nothing he hated more than forcing a person into a sexual relationship of any kind, because he used it as a weapon, but would never take advantage of a person who said ‘no’ – but also be visible enough for no one to try to dare touch Q.

The skinny little Quartermaster with the most beautiful non-vocal laughter existing was James’, and determined to make this clear he left his flat and went down to his car.  


Q’s flat was only about seven minutes away from MI6, from where they’d have to drive for approximately twenty minutes to reach Launceston Place in time for their reservation. It was ten minutes to Q’s place, meaning that they would be punctual. If there was one thing James despised, then it was being late. There was nothing fashionable about it.

James slipped inside and adjusted his jacket, turned on the engine and drove. The streets were filled with cabs heading to restaurants and theatres, meaning that - in order to reach Q's flat in time - he had to leave his flat earlier than he usually would.

As his car came to stop in front of a housing complex in Dorset Road, James had to admit that the outside was nice. Nothing too eye-catching, nor too simple. The names he read on the nameplates weren't striking either, none of which he'd say would suit the Quartermaster.

Common, almost ordinary names. A Smith, Williams, Carter, Cox. M., G., A., C. Even a James, he read, raising an eyebrow.

It all screamed cover, the signs of nothing but a faked identity, something MI6 was fond of when it came to their favourite tools. James never let them choose his for a good reason, because last time he had, they'd given him the suspiciously unobtrusive name 'Reece Palmer'.

Luckily an elderly lady stepped outside of the entrance hall just as James wanted to call Q and ask him to open the bloody door. A tiny, confused, part of his brain wondered how Q could use a phone, or why he even owned one when calling him seemed like an entire waste of time.

No one passed him in the stairwell, but that didn't particularly bother him. The flat he was looking for, with nothing but the number written down on the paper he had clutched his hand, was on the sixth storey, but James was an athletic man so he took the stairs, standing in front of the door within five minutes or less.

He hadn't exactly counted the minutes, not when there was something inside him boiling, rapidly growing and clawing at his sanity.

It was an ugly feeling he couldn't describe, but if he was honest he didn't want to. James wasn't a good man, he had never been, and what was left of what he once had felt for... **her** had left a gaping hole Q now seemed to fill.

James rang the bell, took a step backwards and waited for the door to be opened.

There was the sound of a bell ringing, but he doubted that Q would have noticed it. After all, there once had been an explosion in Q-branch almost right behind Q, and he hadn't even reacted.

But still, a few moments later, the door was opened, and James couldn't help the initial cringe from running down his spine at the sight of that.

At least he now had figured out how Q's bell worked, since the last lights faded out, the colours going from red to green to yellow, chains of lights fixed on the white walls. It was a nice flat, from what he could see through the small gap between door and wall, Q standing in between.

There was a brown couch almost opposite from the door, James noticed, an open flat, white and bright with earth tones, and a huge TV. How did Q watch TV, James wondered, before slowly letting his gaze drop to Q's frame, and therefore the cloth.

It was eye-catching, but not because it was this beautiful, but because of its grotesque hideousness.

He wanted to rip it off, throw it onto the ground and set it on fire, watch it burn in glorious flames. The tie would follow immediately.

James didn't know what the pattern on the red fabric was, but it reminded him strangely of the tiny things he had seen move around under the microscope during his college years; strange round and egg-shaped blue animalcules on the scarf, yellow ones on the tie.

Not only blue and yellow, which only made it worse.

There was purple, violet, green, red, and pink - the sight alone would have made James want to groan in pain were it not for the strange and weird fact that it somehow, queerly, suited the younger man.

The scarf went down to Q's hips and was positioned in a way it nearly covered the grey of his suit, which - while not as expensive looking as James' own tuxedo - accentuated Q's skinny frame and made him appear taller. The buttons were a bit big, the shirt he wore underneath white, and the collar was put down neatly and carefully.

Q's hair stood up in weird angles while his glasses were off. Contact lenses?

It made his eyes look less big, and his face even smaller. High cheekbones, pouty lips with the fine marks of teeth in the bottom one. He's been chewing on them, this little bastard, thought James, distracting him just long enough to forget about the tie and his growing headache.

Q's watch made a strange noise which made both of them look down, breaking James out off his physical pain and making Q flinch.

Actually, the agent corrected himself, it didn't make a noise, it vibrated. Seven times, over a short period of time, probably softly enough to usually not be heard, but over their silence James noticed it.

The agent checked his own, pleased to see that it was seven precisely.

He wasn't over the pain of the scarf and tie, but he could ignore it now. A tiny, quiet voice in his head added that he'd get rid of it on his own, given the time and right moment.

This jacket would surely look lovely on the ground next to a bed.

Lifting his hands, James waved once, then mouthed 'Q'. Then he held his right hand in the form of a fist with his thumb extended in front of his chin, touching it with his thumb and flicking the hand away. His hands moved to his neck, pointing at it.

_Lovely scarf._

Even to sign it hurt, but a lie now and then was of advantage, especially when being on their first date. Probably not the last, knowing himself.

Q smirked, holding his hands closed at either side of his neck, flicking them across it and let them spring open. He pointed at his scarf, repeating the motion.

 _Scarf_. He then proceeded to sign, one James knew and chuckled because of. _Thank you._

_You are welcome._

_Lovely..._ Q did a sign James didn't know, pointing at himself with his thumbs extended, moving them down in almost a caress of the suit's fabric. He was mouthing something, but James had been too distracted by the motion - a common mistake, Eve had told him earlier - to know what he had said.

_What?_

Q huffed, pointing at James' tuxedo. The motions of his lips weren't what James would interpret as those for tuxedo, so as the confusion broke through his unmoving mask, Q was already rolling his eyes.

He gestured for something to write, which James handed over after pulling out the tablet, watching Q intensely as he typed quickly.

_Suit. Lovely suit._

James gave a soft smile, which must have surprised himself more than it would have Q, around whom he had always been strangely human, and gave a short, mocking bow before he gestured towards the stairs, raising his eyebrows.

Q closed the door behind him, the faint click of something snapping into place catching James' attention. There wasn't a knocker, nor a door handle, which the agent only noticed now.

A security system probably built by none other than Q himself, something James couldn't figure out in the few seconds it took the Quartermaster to tap something on the tablet, a funny computer voice audible all of a sudden.

"L-e-t's g-o."

James returned Q's amused smile, offering him his arm.

xx  
xx

The ride was as silent as expected, except for the occasional computer voice which Q had explained was called 'Siri', and the most horrible piece of programming crap Q had ever put his hands on. It sounded female, yet very robotic, with apparently no concept of punctuation or pronunciation.

Apparently it could record voice commands and either do the task or display the message on screen, which Q wanted to try out. James glanced at the street, trying to calculate how long the blasted cars in front of them would block the way, so there was nothing creative popping up in his mind as Q held the device closer to him with the mic pointing in James' direction.

"I hope you like Thai", was the first thing he said, the tablet giving a beep.

'This isn't about me, but you.'

Q gave a grin as James huffed, understanding Q's frustration about this thing's codes. This wasn't the reply he'd have expected, but he wasn't even sure what he had, actually, thought he was about to hear, so he probably wasn't the best person to judge.

The soft noise of Q's fingers moving over the screen had something calming, hypnotic even, because he was doing it more slowly, less rapid and frantic.

He held the device up and James, slowing down the car while keeping track of the traffic from the corner of his eye, risked a glance or two at it to read what Q had written.

_What happened to the Italian place?_

"Blew it up."

Q waited patiently for Siri to reply, since it meant that James' words were written down. The agent couldn't imagine how it was to see lips move and not hear the sound of words being carried by the air in waves, nor could he imagine how it was like to never say something out loud.

Not for the first time since he met Q, he wondered about how he managed.

James knew that, should something ever take away one of his senses, he'd lose his job. He'd have to retire, and wouldn't be useful for anything anymore. A shell, if anything.

But then there was Q, laughing silently at the words he read on the screen, immediately typing his own reply with a bright smile spreading across his features.

Another person from the professional he had worked with a few times already, always a minion's voice in his ear, always there. Sitting next to said minion, giving instructions with his fingers flying over the keys and with his lips making the shapes of words no one would ever hear him say.

Someone... happy. Joyful, almost childish. James found himself liking that. It was a great change from his usual target, the femme fatale.

'I'm afraid I don't understand _"Of course you did, which restaurant did you choose?"._ Do you want me to search for it on the internet?'

James smirked, chuckling softly at the program's stupidity. "Launceston Place."

'There is a place called Launceston Place close to where you are now.'

I know, James thought with a huff, watching Q from the corner of his eyes. God, he hated that scarf. He wanted to rip it off Q's neck, but he figured Q wouldn't like that very much.

Seeing Q was moving his lips as if he was saying the name out aloud somehow broke his heart and made James want to reach out, but he kept his hands on the wheel as he made the car stop once he had found a spot to park, the car coming to a halt.

The charcoal-coloured sign above the door was the first thing James and Q saw from the agent's car.

The windows at the side of the door offered a nice view inside, and James had to smirk as he saw Q's eyes go wide. Candles on tables, people in dresses and tuxedos talking, drinking wine or champagne, flowers in beautiful containers hanging from the ceilings instead of chandeliers.

Q must have had enough money to be able to afford to eat here daily, should he want to, yet James didn't peg him as the kind of person who'd do that. He was surely one of those human beings who saved their money until needed, in case of something going wrong.

That was why James was wasting his own. He could die every day, so why save it for a future he'd never have?

Softly, James wrapped an arm around Q’s waist to gently lead him inside, hand moving up to rest on the small of Q's back. A waiter asked if they had a reservation and James gave him his name, not needing to be guided to the table.

He always chose the same one when he was eating here, either alone or with company. It was a nice quiet booth in the corner of the restaurant.

Bond let Q sit down on the chair after pulling it out for him, the blush on Q's cheeks amusing and adorable at once, while James chose a built-in seat with a comfortable backrest.

With the menu cards already there, James picked his own up and gestured for Q to do the same, not particularly sure about how familiar the Quartermaster was with the procedures of a restaurant like this.

Since Q had immediately taken his napkin from the table and had placed it neatly on his lap, James assumed that there was at least some basic knowledge Q could use for maybe the first time. He sat up straight, putting James' tablet onto his lap, and took the menu card to read. James lowered his glance again, looking at his own.

It was their early evening menu, which he knew it was excellent. He'd choose the organic chicken terrine, layered with foie gras, ham hock and caramelised onions and Madeira reduction; afterwards chicken, truffled mash, purple sprouting broccoli and roasted chicken jus. For dessert, chocolate soufflé, perhaps; he knew of Q's sweet tooth.

They settled the cards down almost at the same moment, Q a bit more hesitantly however.

James shrugged, holding his hands palms-up in a question. _Well?_

Q shrugged as well, but then held his left hand up to repeatedly open and close his index finger and thumb, holding them to the side of his mouth. As James just blinked at him blankly, he opened the menu again, pointed at the chicken terrine and the Rhug Estate chicken.

Repeating the motion, James pointed at the word chicken, tilting his head. Q nodded, chuckling at Bond's amusement. 

The waiter soon came over to their table, one arm behind his back, a white piece of fabric thrown over his arm. James saw Q tug on his scarf, suddenly looking uncertain of himself and the way he had dressed. Under different circumstances, James would have told him his insecurity was appropriate, because the combination was horrible, but he was silent about it, and planned on staying so.

"Do you require our wine list, sir, or have you chosen already?"

Q turned his head to James, watching curiously. The lip motions were too fast, and the waiter's accent probably only made it worse.

Bond made a gesture like drinking, but seeing that it didn't work, he lifted the empty wine glass and showed it to Q, who nodded and pointed at James.

 _You choose_ , James assumed.

"The terrine, twice, and a Bordeaux, please," he said, and handed the cards over, knowing that they wouldn't need them anymore. Once the waiter was gone, he took out a few pieces of paper and two pens, a green and a blue one.

He took the green one for himself, writing down something and pushing the paper over to Q.

_Easier, isn't it? And you can't laugh at my signing that way._

Q chuckled, his handwriting messy next to James' neat script. It was tinier, somehow italic, and it gave a nice contrast. _Why should I laugh at your signing, 007?_

_I know it's horrible, Q. I'm not even sure I get them right half of the time._

_I didn't know that you are full of insecurities._ Q looked up for a moment and raised an eyebrow, gently pushing the paper over after scribbling down something. _I'd never laugh at someone who puts effort into what he is doing._

James frowned, re-reading the sentence twice and then writing his own reply. A few people were looking up at them as no conversation came from their table, only the soft scribbling of pens on paper. The agent couldn't be arsed to care about what they may have thought; instead he pushed the paper towards Q again and leaned back.

_It's not effort to learn a language to communicate._

In this atmosphere, Q's suit looked out of place. The fabric wasn't as soft and expensive looking as James' own suit, or the other gentlemens’. It wasn't as neat, and the tie and scarf made everyone look at them from the corners of their eyes.

Now that James got used to it, he understood that anything else wouldn't have been right on him.

Q was different, in any sense of the word.

An unconventional beauty with messy hair, long limbs and bones visible under his skin, pale in the light of the restaurant. 

People were staring because he was different, and because the two of them were male, but what they didn't know was that Q was deaf, and yet in one of the highest positions MI6 offered.

It was the right thing to wear, James realised, giving Q a smile and taking the paper back as Q finished writing, giving him a last long glance and deciding that the non-classical choice was the one that suited him the most.

_For some it is. I've been surprised by how many of my minions ask those who know sign language to translate for them instead of learning to use it on their own._

_Has anyone given you any kind of trouble?_

Q shook his head, holding both of his hands up with his index fingers extended and with his left hand tapping down on his right. James didn't understand the sign, so Q just tapped his fingers against his thumb, _talk and then pointed behind his back._

They talked behind his back, James understood, expression darkening a bit.

There were a lot of violent, brutal thoughts going through his head, but he pushed them all away because this was a date, and talking about how he'd like to murder Q's minions one by one didn't seem appropriate.

James pressed his right hand against his chest, rubbing a circle and mouthing _'I'm sorry'_ , before reaching out and nudging the paper towards Q again.

A change of topic might be nice, and he would easily get along with whatever Q chose.

 _What was your first impression of me?_ Q wrote, _You said something._

James frowned, contracting his eyebrows. He had said something?

_When we first meet, you said something, probably before I signalled that I'm deaf._

"Ah", James breathed out almost automatically, causing a man on the table next to them to frown and stare at him in confusion. He took the paper and wrote down something quickly, but ended up defending himself, so it was a bit longer than planned.

_I said 'You must be joking', but only because I didn't expect someone this young. All Q's I worked with before were older than me and then they surprise me with you._

_What was so surprising about me? Only my age?_

_No one warned me that the new Quartermaster would look this handsome._

Q blushed lightly after reading that and signed _thank you_ , to which James only gave a passing wave of his hand, smiling with as much charm he could without it seeming faked.

 _I was surprised by your reaction_ , Q wrote, getting a bit messier as he got more nervous, tapping a melody with his right hand, _You didn't comment on it._

_I don't know enough signs to comment, Q._

The younger man rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow at James, letting out a noiseless huff as he wrote again.

Hearing footsteps James looked up, letting Q write in concentration and taking the food for them. The terrine smelled nice, was warm and most likely very tasty, the bottle of wine cold in the waiter's hands.

White and cold in the glasses as he poured a bit into James', and a bit into Q's glass, putting the plates down in front of him (with a bit difficulty due to the papers lying directly in front of Q) before he left.

Reaching out, James patted Q's shoulder and gestured to the plate, taking the papers away so the other would focus on eating.

In past years, James had always seen silence during a dinner as a sign of little chemistry, and had always tried to engage in a conversation to keep the mark or woman focused on the subject and entertained. Since it was impossible to eat and sign or write, there was a silence laying on them, wrapping itself around them like an overly big and fluffy blanket.

Either Q didn't notice the people looking at them or he chose to ignore them, focused on his food, now and then scribbling something down for James to read, a comment on the food, or the wine as he drank a sip.

It was enough for James to work with, and while Q ate he wrote, and while Q wrote he ate. For people around it must have been a curious sight, for them it was easy, sufficient.

The wine was crisp but honeyed, a classical beeswaxy wine which went well with a chicken terrine.

Their conversation was light, pleasant. He asked Q about his life so far, how he had found his way to MI6, delighted to see Q chuckle as he described his interrogation with M. It still made him sober up to hear her name mentioned, to remember her death and the events of Skyfall, but he wasn't surprised about her annoyance to realise that the boy she had chosen as the next Q was deaf.

 _She cursed several times I think_ , Q wrote with a chuckle, sipping at his wine, _Was quite furious and asked for an agent to translate._

_And she offered you the position of Quartermaster just like that?_

No, Q wrote, it had taken a while. A genius always offered a certain risk, a deaf one especially. Q had worked as a minion under the previous Q for about a year before the older man had been promoted to R and, shortly before the two had met, became Q himself.

They drank Pinot Noir - a Spy Valley from New Zealand with a lightly smoky taste, oak notes –with the roasted chicken and changed subjects, going from work to M to Eve, and then to art, strangely, and a painting Q seemed to be fond of.

The paper was filled with scribbled words, scraps of sentences and comments from James as Q ranted about the painting of a ship, hauled away for scrap, and somehow ended up talking about melancholy and time.

The agent knew the painting he was talking about - and even if he hadn't, Q drew a sketch of it with a strange and surprising accuracy and elegance. He wondered why Q could draw like that and was working in technology, a conflict of interests, it seemed, and James 'listened' intently as Q explained it to him.

He had studied art and IT science in college and had always been the former Q's personal protegé until he had taken his job. Technology was his job, art his hobby.

And judging from the little sketches he drew on the corners of the paper, James assumed that his notes and files were full of little drawings.

_Drawing is easy, a universal language everyone speaks. I drew on my papers and my parents knew what I wanted from them._

_Didn't they learn sign language?_

Q shook his head, sipping at the Pinot Noir before writing. _It's common for parents to never bother, some of my classmates didn't learn sign language until the teachers helped them._

_When did you learn?_

_I taught myself._

James laughed. _Of course you did, what did I expect?_

_When did you learn the little of sign language you know?_

_Navy_ , James wrote, _tactical sign language is useful when in the middle of a fight. Not for communicating, though._

He winked and Q chuckled at him and ate some chicken. Their plates were soon empty.

A waiter took them away, another one asked for their choice of dessert.

Bond turned his head to Q and used the sign for 'chocolate' Eve had shown him - they had chocolate soufflé, and he knew that Q had a weakness for sugar, so he assumed he would want that.

One hand pulling up the other one, palm pressed flat against his chest, before he formed 'u's with his hands and pulled one forward. He repeated the motion a few times, Q's expression making him frown.

The other was staring blankly at him, signing What?

James repeated the motion again, and again, but Q's expression remained confused. As the waiter asked him again, he sighed.

Finally, Q took the paper, turned the page around and wrote something down, showing it to James.

_What are you trying to sign?_

_How about chocolate._

Q blinked once, twice, corners of his lips twitching. As James began to ask what was wrong, the Quartermaster began to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to rerumfragmenta from tumblr - she knows why! Chocolate, dear, chocolate.
> 
> And this is Q's suit: http://i46.tinypic.com/nv9tg9.jpg
> 
> \----
> 
> Beta-read by Bardlover1 - thank you so much :)


	5. Chapter 5

Laughter was a way of showing greater pleasure, happiness and amusement, usually a relatively brief affair happening for less than half a minute, seconds only. Q had been laughing for two minutes straight, completely oblivious to and ignorant of the confused gazes being thrown in his direction. A couple at the table next to theirs even went so far as to openly stare, she whispering into his ear, asking why they couldn’t hear a noise.

James knew this was the most horrible situation for thoughts like these, but seeing Q laugh at something the agent had done made something inside James give a pleased, contented roar, because it was working...whatever he had done. Women laugh at men they like, men like women who laugh about what they do; the same apparently worked with Q. Part of James wanted to reach out and kiss Q until the other stopped laughing and gasped instead.

With the way Q's gums were showing, his lips drawn into a full smile, James couldn't help but wonder why no one had claimed this boy as theirs. Was it the deafness? The fact that Q couldn't talk, therefore not respond and required special treatment in order to make a relationship work? Was it the way his skin clung tight onto his bones, cheekbones so visible James could easily trace them, follow the path over his collarbones down his spine?

Or, the agent had to admit to himself, people were becoming less and less concerned about leaving a mark on a person's body and were out for a quick, easy fuck; he nearly frowned at that thought, but pushed it away. There was nothing wrong about him wanting to make Q his, every man right in the head would want that.

‘It was just a matter of how he approached the subject, being neither blunt nor impolite, trying to impress by being the gentleman he was sure Q would want for himself.

Every fine Englishman with a sense for beauty and a steadily growing interest in the Quartermaster would want that.

He reached out to tap Q's hand in order to make him stop laughing, worrying that the Quartermaster would forget how to breathe. That didn't happen, however, nor did he stop laughing; if anything, it became stronger and he struggled to cease. There were tears shining in Q's eyes, illuminating them like emeralds, shining with such a bright green that James nearly felt blinded.

This boy couldn't be real, he couldn't be human, yet here James was, courting an angel to pull him deep down into heaven. And oh heavens, did it feel good, did it feel right.

Tapping Q's hand again, James lifted his own hand to poke Q's shoulder, going up to his chin in order to press beneath it; that would certainly attract Q's attention, and just as expected the young Brit slowly stopped laughing, wiping tears away with a negligent gesture of his index finger.

James took the piece of paper and turned it around, the front covered in little sketches Q had drawn waiting for James to finish writing, their handwriting strangely adapting and perfectly fitting together, neat against messy. He wondered which words would fill the other side as he wrote on the paper, turning it around for Q to read.

To his surprise, Q just began to laugh again, hand shaking as he wrapped his spidery fingers around the pen, scribbling down something on the paper. James tried to read it upside-down, but Q turned the paper around for him to read.

The waiter had gone again, probably figuring that they would order later; it was the advantage of a highly expensive restaurant with clients from the upper income bracket. It gave James some time to think about how to proceed, whether he should walk Q home or drive, or if he should go to Moneypenny's flat and shoot her straight through the skull.

At this moment the latter sounded strangely tempting. He liked the way it tasted on his tongue without being spoken out aloud; and even if he did, he doubted Q would be reading his lips at this moment.

_Who told you that?_

Instead of writing, James clumsily signed 'Moneypants', remembering the sign from the one time Eve had showed him; a nickname, from what he had understood, just like she called Q cupcake. It fitted; he was sweet, cute and probably delicious, but it made him sound weak, harmless.

Q wasn't; if anything, he was more dangerous than James would ever be.

 _Of course she would_ , Q wrote after starting to laugh again, hardly being able to restrain himself and messing up his writing a bit, the last two words dangerously close and almost not readable, that's not how you ask that question.

James downed his glass, preparing himself for the worst as he wrote his reply. _What did I sign?_

Q giggled into his hand and shook his head, gesturing something James couldn't see. Only as Q repeated the motion, hand down and other lifted to his right cheek which he blew up like a hamster, did James understand what he meant.

For the first time in his life James felt the urge to groan out loud, but played that down by raising an eyebrow and gesturing Q to write it down. It was possible that the motion was some sign, and not what James thought it was; he honestly, and genuinely, hoped that it was, or else he had to come up with a way to murder Eve without getting caught.

_These signs, Mister Bond, are a question. And this question isn't about chocolate._

James huffed out a sigh, mumbling "Insufferable brat" under his breath with a strangely affectionate intonation. _Q, tell me._

Q pouted at him but then nodded, finally writing down what James had feared. The urge to bang his head against the table was stronger than it ever had been, but he managed to control himself. The only reaction he showed an unbelieving expression Q laughed at.

 _She showed you the signs of a request for a blowjob_ , Q explained smugly, _which is an interesting question to ask, but a bit too early at this stage._

James blinked, looking at Q's hands as he wrote, right one supporting his dominant hand by holding the paper still. Far too many inappropriate thoughts crossed the agent's mind, going from how he wanted those hands pinned and tied as he fucked Q into the mattress to curiosity about how they would feel wrapped around his cock.

He cleared his throat, glad that Q couldn't hear it.

_Do I have permission to kill her for that?_

The Quartermaster looked up, raised an eyebrow and shook his head, writing 'Tut' on the paper with two asterisks at the beginning and the end, something James recognised as a sign for actions in chats.

_No killing of co-workers, James, imagine the paperwork._

That made James chuckle, his fingers brushing Q's as he took the pen from him, the faint blush on Q's cheeks making him grin in delight. This was going well, he thought, a nice evening, and he wondered if he could ask Q out again when this was over.

Which, James said to himself, he didn't want it to be.

There was something highly intoxicating about Q's presence, something contagious in the air, making James want to bury his nose in Q's curls, mess them up again and pull on them softly; it made him want to bite down into Q's neck and taste his flesh, mark him for everyone to see that this beautiful man was James'.

Old-fashioned views, James knew, but no one stopped him from thinking them so he wasn't particularly bothered as he finished writing and showed it to his Quartermaster.

_I vaguely remember someone here saying that he wouldn't laugh at someone putting effort into what he is doing, or have I fallen victim to an illusion?_

Q grinned, gums hidden now; if James remembered his face-reading lessons correctly, then he was comfortable with himself. Or at least relaxed, judging from the way he looked at James from across the table, amusement sparkling in his clear eyes.

He didn't bother to write, instead trying to sign - left hand clutched into a fist with thumb and pinkie extended like the sign James had seen rockers do, shaking the hand like he was trembling.

James didn't recognise the sign, but was able to read it from Q's lips. _Perhaps._

Smug bastard.

So how does the sign for chocolate work? James asked eventually as the waiter came back and asked if they had chosen something, throwing a wary and confused glance towards Q who either ignored it or was oblivious to the interest he triggered in the people sitting next to them.

Q shook his head with an amused smile, opening the menu card and pointing at the chocolate soufflé. The waiter, most likely being highly confused about the situation but with a salary high enough to make him stay quiet about it, turned to ask James what he wanted, and yes sir, the food should be here in a few moments, thank you.

He walked away, leaving Q and James alone. 

_Are you purposely ignoring me just to not have to talk about the sign? Something more inappropriate I cannot imagine._

_No_ , Q raised an eyebrow and gave a smile, all smug and self-confident like James had seen him be in the office, where he was the king reigning over the minions at his feet. And James meant that quite literally; he had once caught Q sitting on a chair placed on top of his desk, with the underlings all below his feet.

A god-complex? Self-confidence taken to the extreme?

Whatever it was, James would enjoy taking Q apart and would have his fun pulling Q back onto his feet, but not now, not yet. Patience was a boring, annoying thing, but it was of use.

_Then why don’t you just tell me, Q?_

_Because, as far as I know, this is a date, not a sign lesson – or am I mistaken?_

James smiled and shook his head, taking the paper from Q again to write; if they kept on like this, it would soon be filled with phrases, sketches and little notes, comments about the food, the place itself, the wine. Just in case James had another paper with him, and if that one was full as well they had Q’s tablet. It would surely be more complicated but they would manage. James had the feeling that with Q he would be willing to go through everything just to see him smile.

It was a strange new feeling James had thought was gone, had drowned in Italy and died with Vesper in the dark waters.

But Q and the way he smiled as the soufflé was put down in front of him, Q and the bits of chocolate on the corners of his lips as he ate, happily putting spoon after spoonful of chocolate into his mouth... Sugar addiction, James mused, starting to eat his own at a slower pace, watching the other the whole time.

Creepy, maybe. But there was something about Q which made him want to look at the young man all the time, twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. The sight of those dark curls, the green bright eyes normally hidden away behind glasses and the ridiculous cardigans or suits made him want to see it all, to know it all.

He wanted to know which music Q listened to and why, what his favourite type of food was, the codes he enjoyed the most and the brand of underwear he wore at home. If he snored or stole the blankets, if he got cold feet in the morning – James, he realised with a mild sense of horror, wanted to know everything.

Wanted to wake up next to Q in the morning and be the first thing he saw, wanted to be the one holding him when the Quartermaster was sleeping peacefully. He wanted to kiss him to loud music making the couch and ground vibrate with its beats, and all this certainly didn’t help to eliminate James’ growing obsession with the skinny little man he had sitting right in front of him across the table.

Q finished his soufflé and James did the same with his own, deciding that the evening was young, the air outside most likely more than pleasant and that they could walk. He knew Q’s address, had memorised the way there just like he had memorised the view of a flustered Q with pink cheeks. It also gave James an excuse to spend more time with him, accept the fact that he was developing emotions at a worrying pace.

It should have freaked James out. It should have worried him, disgusted him or made him close up, but neither was the case. The only thing it made James feel was a certain kind of calm, like a wolf far too content in its mate’s presence to even consider attacking.

That was a perfect way of describing their starting relationship, if James could already call it that.

He was the wolf, and Q... what was Q? A lamb was harmless, which Q wasn’t, he was too weak and shy to be a wolf on his own, his strength lying in his brain and not his body which served as nothing but a shell for the great mind inside.

Tapping Q on the shoulder after standing up, he pulled the chair back for him and offered him an arm, ignoring the confused glances Q shot in his direction. Not used to being courted in the old-fashioned way, it seemed, letting James’ determination to spoil this boy rotten grow to the point where it worried the agent a bit.

But he had the money and the time, and as long as Q didn’t complain, he wouldn’t stop.

This game had only just begun.

He led Q outside, past the car; as Q poked his side and tilted his head in confusion, James moved his free hand’s index and middle finger like legs walking, then said ‘Home’. It was the closest thing he could get to fluency in sign language. Any other language had never turned out to be a problem; he had mastered French over the course of a mission and with little time to sit down and study, had learnt Chinese, Russian, all kinds of languages, but sign language was the first challenge he had ever encountered.

 _Home?_ Q repeated by moving his lips, a sting of pain in James’ chest as he realised he had said it out aloud, and Q couldn’t. He would have an angelic voice, James knew, incredibly posh, as beautiful and soft as the taste of honey on one’s tongue.

It filled James with sadness that this voice was locked inside Q’s body, unable to get out.

He nodded, turning his head again to look at the pavement in front of them. The night was fresh, young; the stars shining above their heads and the moon hidden behind a few semi-transparent clouds letting through some of its bright, cold light.

Q’s skin shone in it, white like snow and as pure as the light itself. His hair was tousled by now, a bit messy, arousing in James’ mind the temptation to run his fingers through it. He didn’t do that, but made a mental note to do so the moment it wouldn’t be overstepping the boundaries.

He knew his day would come; if it was the desperation of a fool, the conviction of an idiot or the foreboding of an agent, he couldn’t tell, but he saw no reason to waste more thought on this, instead focussing on Q’s presence next to him, his arm in James’.

Taking a bit of a risk, James lowered the arm just to let it circle Q’s waist, testing the waters. For a moment he could feel the Quartermaster tense, but then he seemed to lean in closer and James took hold, being careful not to wrinkle Q’s suit.

 _James?_ Q fingerspelled with his left hand, the signs familiar enough for James to recognise them from the corners of his eyes. He turned his head, looking at Q’s hands as he continued, following the movements carefully and with concentration. Thank you for today.

James lifted his right hand, tapped against his chin and moved it down in a swift movement, mouthing you are welcome to Q, who smiled back. 

Angelic, James thought, so pure, so perfect, _**mine**_.

The rest of the way was spent in comfortable silence. James listened to the noises the cars passing them made, to the TVs playing loudly whenever they walked next to flats in the lowest storey; TV shows, music programs, the occasional movie. The sound of gunshots following them from one house, only to blend together with a woman singing in a high-pitched, loud voice, fading and being replaced by a moderator talking to the audience.

London might not be as bad as New York, but it was far too early for anyone to sleep, and on their way to Q’s flat they weren’t the only ones walking on the pavement, but certainly the most quiet ones.

And James had the most beautiful young man on his arm, knowing an envious or surprised gaze when he saw one.

In a matter of ten minutes they reached Q’s flat and the young man let them into the stairwell, walking in front of James on his way up and accidentally offering him a nice view of his round buttocks, leaving little room to imagine, but enough to wonder about how it would feel to be buried between them.

James wet his lips like a predator, tempted to just kiss Q and push him down onto the bed should he be invited inside. But he was out to court, to bind Q to him permanently, and not enjoy a quick fuck just once and never again.

So he kept his distance as Q unlocked the door and turned around to James, something in the way he smiled making James’ expression soften and his shoulders sink down a bit.

Q lifted his left hand with his thumbs up, before both hands went up and he moved them until they were in front of the other horizontally. It wasn’t a sign James recognised, but he figured it was some way of saying goodbye, and he couldn’t let that happen already, could he?

Just as Q was about to turn around and close the door, James reached out and wrapped his fingers around the other’s bony wrist, trying not to think about how he could break it in a half with nothing but a snap.

He held his left hand horizontally with his palms up, before mimicking the movement made when eating with a spoon; moving it up to his mouth and down again. Before Q could ask what he meant James made another sign by holding the index finger of his right hand to his cheek and moving it forward.

_Breakfast tomorrow?_

Something inside James was pleased as Q almost immediately nodded, cheeks flushed in excitement. Signing it would take too long, so James took out the paper they had last written on and wrote down _‘I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow, we can go to work together afterwards.’_

Q nodded again, taking the paper and wrapping his fingers around it as if he was afraid it would vanish. Not having released the Quartermaster’s hand again, James lifted it to his lips, pressing a short, chaste kiss on Q’s knuckles before letting go.

He waved, and Q waved back before doing another sign which James didn’t know, and had no idea what it could mean.

Forming a C with his left hand, index and thumb, Q rubbed it down his chin twice, giggling and closing the door before James could ask.

The agent walked back to his car and drove to Eve’s flat. The first thing he did was ask her what it meant to rub one’s chin with a ‘C’.

She frowned at him and opened the door, letting him inside for a cup of coffee and some signing lessons.

“It means chocolate,” she said, sitting down on the couch next to him. “I think he gave you a nickname.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1 - thank you so much :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by Bardlover1

James blinked at her and tried not to look too shocked, but he wasn’t sure whether he was successful or not. His gut told him he wasn’t, but Eve’s expression didn’t betray anything.

She was an excellent actress when she needed to be, and the proof was a tiny scar on James’ back, the result of a mission together in which she had to attack him in front of their mark as distraction. Needless to say, it had worked perfectly well.

Right now, she didn’t show anything, just sat there in her dressing gown with a cup of hot coffee in her hand. At this time only the agents and minions of clearance level four and lower went home, those with a higher rating usually stayed until they were kicked out by either M, their minions or someone who found them dozing in their breakfast. That Eve was home made him suspicious.

“Chocolate?” he asked creakily, folding his hands in his lap to keep them from twitching in nervousness he wasn’t accustomed to.

Eve nodded. “The sign you described is chocolate.”

“You told me another sign.”

Now Eve showed a reaction; she began to chuckle and nodded, holding a hand in front of her mouth. James saw perfectly manicured nails with bright red polish, long like claws. Not for the first time James wondered how someone could type so quickly with those, and his thoughts drifted to Q as he wondered if he’d manage with such long claws.

He had to smirk, entertaining the thoughts for a bit longer until Eve kicked him under the table.

“It’s rude not to listen to a lady,” Eve pointed at him with her index finger, eyebrows contracted and eyes squinted, “especially when she’s trying to act innocent. Are you listening now?”

James nodded sharply, like he would with M or had done back in the Navy. “Yes, _ma’am_ ,” he he said with a teasing intonation, leaning back comfortably, “I am listening.”

Eve reached out to her cup of coffee and drank a few sips, tapping against the cup; James recognised it as a melody he had once heard from Q’s earphones and had to smile. He regarded her for a few moments, waiting for her to continue. When Q had told him that the signs didn’t mean what Eve had told him they did, he had wanted to rip off her head.

For once in his life, James had the feeling that maybe now things were going to be alright – and Eve could have destroyed it with her foolish prank.

As she said nothing and just drank her coffee, James grew restless and annoyed. It was late at night, he wanted to get home and sleep so he wouldn’t be tired in the morning, would be able to fully concentrate on Q and Q only.

“Miss Moneypenny,” he finally hissed out, and she seemed to give up.

“I made fun of you a bit,” she explained, not even looking guilty. “I’m sure Q didn’t mind.”

James leaned forward and crossed his arms, but let them drop almost immediately; he put his hands on the table, curling his fingers on the edge of Eve’s table.

“What. Did. You. Make. Me. Say,” he asked, gritting his teeth and feeling close to snapping; he didn’t want things to be awkward. Even though Q had laughed and looked like whatever James had asked had not been offensive or rude, it bothered the agent more than it should have.

When speaking, he was eloquent, charming and sure of what he said; he was fluent in body language, in words unspoken and in subliminal messages. But when it came to Q, he didn’t know how to act around him. It wasn’t because he was disabled, but because he couldn’t speak Q’s language – communicating was hard, and he couldn’t carry around papers all the time.

That Eve was playing on his insecurities, jumping on them and slapping him in the face with her amusement enraged him.

“James, I’m sure Q isn’t angry at you for what you said – ”

“ _Eve_ ,” he growled.

“Okay, okay, I made you ask about a blow job,” Eve muttered and looked down, turning her gaze away. James had never seen her look ashamed before, but he couldn’t feel pity for her. All he felt was blank horror. “I can talk to Q and apologise, okay? I’m sure he didn’t mind.”

James scowled, but said nothing. He’d talk to Q on his own, would apologise and rant about Eve, he would try. Rubbing his palms together, Bond looked at her and sighed.

“Go ahead.”

Eve blinked at him. “Pardon?”

His anger was replaced by amusement; Eve looked confused and surprised, both emotions he normally would not associate with her. Memorising her expression for future teasing and taunting, James tapped a melody on the desk, humming as he purposely ignored her.

Eve laughed and reached out to him, hitting his chest. The table was small, probably so Eve didn’t have to stand up to get what stood at the other side of it; James grinned at her, pointing at the phone hanging on the wall.

“You can call him.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He’s deaf, you know,” she replied as James stared at her with a blank face. She shrugged. “I can’t call him.”

“Video chat.”

“He’ll be in bed by now.”

James sighed and got up, bringing her laptop to the desk and turning it so the screen was facing her. With a bit of searching he found the Skype symbol on her desktop, opened it and logged into her account with the password she used for everything. Ignoring Eve’s protests, he searched for a nickname which could be Q’s – he blinked at a long line of numbers, 43 75 70 63 61 6b 65, and turned his head to Eve with a questioning look.

“It’s cupcake in HEX,” she explained quietly, shrugging.

The symbol next to Q’s nickname was green, with a check mark in the middle of it; he seemed to be online.

“Tell him.”

“Can’t that wait until tomorrow-“

“No,” James glared at her, “do it.”

Eve sighed and clicked on ‘video chat’, waiting until Q accepted it. James was glad that it didn’t take too long; the melody that played when waiting for the call to be taken was not only annoying, it made him feel twitchy.

Q’s face appeared at the screen, hair ruffled and his eyes half-closed. James’ throat went dry; he looked absolutely gorgeous like that, his hair a mess and shirt having slipped down his shoulder to reveal white, smooth skin. Temptation rose inside James, made him want to drive to Q’s flat, open the door and cover his skin in kisses, bite and lick until everyone would know this boy was his.

Eve turned her head to look at James and frowned, reaching out to pinch his arm.

“If you keep on looking at him like that, he’ll think you want to eat him,” she said, her head turned away so Q couldn’t read her lips. James thought it was rude and felt bad for isolating Q from this conversation, but it was better for now. He didn’t know if or how well Q could read lips.

“Maybe that’s what I want to do,” James hummed and smirked as she stared at him in shock. He gestured to the screen and Q’s confused face. “He’s waiting.”

Eve turned her head back to Q, moved a bit backwards so he could see her body from her waist up and then signed; clutching her right hand into a fist, she held it against her chest and moved it in circles while mouthing something James didn’t understand, but she muttered “Very sorry” for him to make things clear.

He was glad she tried to include him in the conversation, and wondered how Q did it every day.

Unable to hear, unable to ask when someone didn’t understand sign language; James felt like an asshole for being angry at Eve for speaking in sign language when he couldn’t.

Seeing Q sign, James regarded his facial expression carefully. He didn’t look angry, disappointed or annoyed, no; he was smiling and looked at James, signing something – he lifted his hand, pressed with his fingertip against the corner of his lips and back of his hand facing Eve, turning it around so the palm was outside and the finger had moved.

Eve chuckled. “He said that you’re sweet.”

“Sweet?”

Q, who had apparently read his lips, chuckled and nodded, repeating the sign again and again until Eve did another one and both of them began to laugh.

James blinked, sitting there a bit helplessly as they signed and signed and signed, fingers and hands moving quicker than James could follow, gestures flying faster than words could. He got up and went to make himself some coffee, throwing a quick gaze to the clock hanging on the wall. It was late in the evening, almost night; at this time Q would normally work and James would be in some bar, trying to pull a woman and fuck her into the mattress. 

He wouldn’t. Not anymore, not while he was trying to get Q; his body, his soul and mind, everything, and James was determined to have him. Smiling, he went back to his chair and reached out to type on the keyboard, sending a message in the chat.

_  [22:52:02] Eve: Do I need to be hurt? _

Q looked at the corner of the screen for a moment and then up at Eve, who pointed at James and made a typing-gesture in the air; Q nodded and a moment later James had a reply.

_ [22:52:20] 43 75 70 63 61 6b 65: Maybe, maybe not. What do I get for telling you? _

James rolled his eyes and moved the cursor over Q’s nickname, pressed the right mouse button and changed his name to ‘cupcake’. It was easier to read, and Q wouldn’t know anyway. That, of course, only was the case until Eve spilled and told him.

And he did not doubt that it would happen, he just didn’t know when.

_ [22:53:10] Eve: I will pay for breakfast tomorrow and take you to the most expensive café I know. The cupcakes and other cakes there will be worth your trouble, I promise. _

Q’s expression reminded him of a child before Christmas, his eyes sparkling and his lips slightly parted. James didn’t even have time to comment as Q had replied in a matter of seconds.

_ [22:53:20] cupcake: Deal. _

_ [22:53:40] Eve: Good, now tell me. _

Q smiled into the camera and signed something, before simply shaking his head. Even James understood that, he didn’t need to know what he had signed before. For him, the only thing mattered was that Q had looked at him while shaking his head and that they somehow managed to communicate despise the obvious problems. James smiled into the camera, signed _seven o’clock tomorrow?_ and tilted his head, waiting for an answer.

_ Yes, _ Q mouthed, before he waved. Eve lifted her hand to stop him from logging off and signed again, just as quickly as before. James gave up and didn’t even try to follow her, just sipped his coffee and watched Q reply with an exhausted expression, trying to make Eve sign faster so he could go to bed – James felt pride as he realised he had read that from his facial expression alone.

Eve tried, nearly stumbling over the words she signed, her eyebrows contracted in concentration. She wet her lips, pausing only for a few seconds in which Q chuckled and looked at James before focusing on Eve as she continued. 

The agent grinned and settled back, crossing his legs comfortably in his usual Alpha-male posture. The two seemed to finish signing – Eve waved, Q waved and then pointed at James. Eve nudged his side and made him look at the screen again.

“Q wants to tell you something.”

Under James’ gaze, Q lifted his left hand thumbs-up, then the other too; the back of his hands faced James as the left made a swiping downward motion down to hide behind right. The sign which followed was one James recognised, and he had to chuckle.

“He said something with chocolate,” James stated, turning his head to look at Eve.

“He wished you good night, chocolate,” Eve nodded and chuckled, gently helping James repeat the first sign and do the one for Q’s nickname.

_ Good night, cupcake. _

After another wave, Q logged off and Eve closed her Skype before someone could contact her; she put the laptop away and then reached out to her coffee, not even looking exhausted from all the fast signing she had done in the last few minutes.

"How come you know sign language fluently?"

Eve smiled, not looking offended by the question as he feared she might be. Settling back, Eve crossed her legs and sipped at her coffee which was cold by now, but she didn't seem to want to put it away or let it waste.

He had seen her collect the leftovers of food from the cafeteria, and no one knew what she was doing with that.

"Not everyone who signs has speech or hearing issues," she said finally, turning her head to look at James, "some do it because they're more comfortable signing than speaking. There are two reasons I know sign language this well."

James just looked at her, waiting patiently with growing curiosity.

"My little brother has autism and was never comfortable speaking. My parents thought he was mute or couldn't speak, sent him to doctors and psychiatrists, but they all said that he should be able to talk," Eve said with a fond smile. "One day I went to him with a piece of paper - I did a lot of research and consulted a friend who works with children to teach them signing - and asked him if he'd be more comfortable signing. I went with him to all his classes, learnt BSL and Makaton."

James frowned. "Makaton?"

"It's a language program," Eve took her laptop again to type something James didn't see, "it's used with people who have problems speaking or hearing." She opened _makaton.org_ and showed James the page, letting him take a look at what was written there. "Communication is through speaking to others. Some can't. But sometimes, when we speak, we use symbols or gestures to help the other person understand us better and such gestures are used for Makaton. It's almost like sign language, only easier."

James nodded along as she spoke, finding himself growing curious. The only thing he had known about the Deaf community had been taught to him by a woman he had bedded; she said there was Deaf pride, that the idea of using a cochlear implant was one rejected by the community as they found it offensive. It was, he realised, part of Q's life, part of who he was and his personality.

The agent wanted to learn more, to understand him and be able to give him something others hadn't.

"See," Eve continued, not noticing that James was distracted and lost in thoughts, "a gesture you'd understand without knowing that it's used in Makaton." She lifted her hands, pressed the palms together and held them next to her tilted head - _to sleep_ , James recognised. "What do you think it means?"

"Sleep?" He raised an eyebrow, wondering how anyone could have problems understanding this.

Eve nodded. "It doesn't look like it's a big deal, but for my brother it was. I’d never seen him so happy and he always dragged me to his lessons."

"You said you had two reasons?"

"The second reason is in the bedroom."

James blinked at her and turned his head to the bedroom. A faint light was shining through the gap between the closed door and the floor. He hadn't known that Eve was in a relationship again; the first time Eve had been out in the field, she had told James that her girlfriend was waiting for her at home and she'd be damned if she'd get killed on her first assignment.

She had _kicked ass_.

Now she seemed to have someone new.

"When I met Larenz he was just going through all his surgeries and therapies," Eve told him, smiling into her cup, "he's hearing impaired. I didn't know the proper BSL yet but he was very patient and taught me."

"What happened to that science professor?"

Eve made an absent gesture and huffed. "We broke up a year after we met. It doesn't really matter." She stood up and poured water into the cup, then stole James' and drank from it. She pulled a face. "Far too much caffeine."

"It's coffee," he protested, "of course it's caffeine. What did you expect?"

"Sugar. Milk." Eve shrugged. "This is bloody strong." James just glared at her and she sighed, padding over to the bedroom and opening the door. She signed something, speaking as she did so. "Do you want the strongest coffee in existence?" The response from inside was a grunt.

James smirked. "What a charming young man you seem to have on your side."

Eve glared at him, but then chuckled. "He's working night shift this week." She turned to the door again, signing with her back to James. "And fucking grumpy because he never wants to get his lazy arse up."

Eventually, after some more attempts and the threat of being made to sleep on the couch for several weeks, a man of approximately 180cm height stepped out of the bedroom in nothing but boxers, his black hair in a curly mess. Eve had a thing for curls, James noticed, remembering the mop of hair on her girlfriend’s head. It also reminded him of his own developing obsession with Q’s hair, but he pushed the thought away to examine the man.

Bright blue eyes, short yet curly hair, high cheekbones; he nodded at James as he passed him, leaned down to press a kiss on Eve’s head and then stole her coffee, disappearing again.

James smirked. “What a lovely fellow.”

Eve reached out and hit James on the chest. “Shut up,” she muttered, smiling fondly, “he’s tired. Wait until he’s out of the shower and you can see what a bundle of energy he is.”

“You look happy,” James stated, his expression blank. He didn’t show it, but he considered her as a friend, and she was one of the few women he had never succeeded in seducing. “Who does he work for?”

“He’s a surgeon,” Eve replied, making herself a new cup of coffee. This household seemed to be addicted to it, like Q was to sugar. “MI6 already ran a background check on him and everything, he’s alright. No need to get overprotective and scare him.”

James just blinked at her with a serious expression and Eve sighed.

“He knows that I work for MI6 but never asks for details. I tell him about my day without mentioning names, details or anything which could be used against the country,” Eve huffed at him. “Besides, you couldn’t even scare him because you don’t know enough signs.”

“I can write it down and give it to him.”

“He doesn’t like being handed things. He’s like Tony Stark.”

For a few moments James tried to remember who Tony Stark was, only to realise that he had no idea. The name seemed familiar but he couldn’t place it, so he just tilted his head at Eve. She rolled her eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Q would help you and teach you how to say _hurt her and I’ll kill you with my bare hands in ways you didn’t think were possible_.” She gestured to the door. “Now shoo. You have to get up early and we all know you need your beauty sleep.”

James stepped closer to her and took her hand, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. Larenz came back from the bathroom with towels around his head and his waist, looked at James and then Eve, his expression amused. He signed something and Eve laughed.

“He asked if he needs to be jealous,” she said while signing her reply, her boyfriend laughing in return. He had a deep, soft voice, pleasant to the ear. Larenz stepped closer to his partner and kissed her cheek, wrapping an arm around her waist.

James mouthed ‘Thank you’ to Eve, turned around and left them alone.

From the corner of his eye he saw Larenz kiss Eve, and closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two little notes at the end:
> 
> 1\. A special thanks to Hanne (restlesslyaspiring on tumblr) for sending me a lot of information about the Signing culture of America and in general - little things I probably wouldn't have known even after a lot of research. Thank you very much dear, I'll let your tips and notes creep into this story and I hope it'll fill you with happiness to see me actually using it :)
> 
> 2\. I have to apologise. As someone called "India" called out, I have been describing Q as "deaf and mute", and she pointed out that _"deaf people around the world aren't too fond of the term mute because it implies that they lack a language which isn't true at all"_ and I'm sorry for writing it. If it should have hurt anyone, I do apologise - I deleted the term from my fanfiction and will try not to use it again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to rerumfragmenta. She knows why.
> 
> Warning: Torture and violence occurs in this chapter.

It never came to the breakfast, the flirting, and the cupcakes; which was a shame, really, considering that James had been rather looking forward to it. To feel the domesticity of holding someone's hand in his own, feeding Q bites of cupcakes, sweets and chocolate. He had been looking forward to kissing him in order to lick the chocolate off his lips, a nice excuse in case Q wouldn't want him to.

Destiny, as always, was a bitch.

James should have known that his life could never be this peaceful and happy, simply because it was _his_ life and he knew that it was full of shit and misery. But it was fine, really. By now he was used to it.

In a naive, almost childish thought James had hoped that maybe Q would bring light into the darkness consuming James' soul. But danger was right on his heels, and it came snapping for their lives like a hungry hound.

When the cold water hit James' face like a sharp punch to the bones, he blinked a few times and then rolled his shoulders, feeling them crack lightly.

The ropes on his wrists and legs were far too tight; if he was going to be here for a long time and was to be kept on the chair for the entirety, he could risk losing a limb. By dislocating his right arm, he might be able to get free of the ropes around his torso, but that wouldn't solve the other problems he had.

He had no idea where he was, why he was here, and what had happened.

Sure, he remembered getting up early in the morning, getting ready and into a suit. He remembered going to Q’s and knocking on his door, but from that moment on there was a huge gap in his memory - the next thing he knew was that he’d been captured, but he didn’t know by whom.

James looked up at the masked man and he raised an eyebrow - _How creative._ He wore a black mask leaving only his mouth and eyes visible. He tried to deduce the man's ethnic background. They had not spoken to him yet, which made it harder for him. But by the way the man held himself James could at least assume that he had received training, and was not a criminal of opportunity.

He – or whomever he was working for – had an agent of Her Majesty’s Secret Service in their walls, tied, bound and captured, so the theory of something as simple as ransom seemed almost absurd.

Flashing the man a smile, James leant back as much as it was possible in his position and made himself comfortable on the hard chair, and wondered whether they were made for another purpose or simply for criminals and MI6 ‘shrinks’. At least they had left some of his clothes on, stripping him only to his shirt and underwear. He curled his naked toes against the wooden floor, trying to judge how high they were, but he didn’t manage to poke through the battens.

“It was almost too easy to kidnap you,” said a voice from behind James suddenly, making his fingers twitch in the instinct to turn around. He couldn’t, however, and forced himself to let out the breath he held, slowly managing to relax. “The secret agent and his toy boy.”

James smirked. He had always enjoyed hearing a woman – with an exotic accent, _Caribbean?_ Use dirty, obscene words. James was distracted enough for a moment to miss the meaning in her words. When he did however, he tensed up and turned his head and indeed, his eyes found Q sitting on the ground, chin resting against his chest.

He seemed to be unconscious, and he had dried blood on his forehead. It drew a growl from James – someone had dared to hurt what was his, someone had dared to _touch_ Q and wound him – and a chuckle from the woman who still hid behind James, not even making her shadow visible in the corner of his eyes.

“Did you have to hurt him? I think he’s prone to headaches,” James hummed, trying to draw the attention back to him. They didn’t need to know how he felt about the Quartermaster; it would bring both of them into danger, but Q especially. If they knew that 007 had a weakness, and one that they could so easily reach, wound, hurt and even kill, then it would all be over.

James gritted his teeth, hearing the scrunching.

“Why, I’m so happy you asked,” the woman purred out. “We did want to use a tranquiliser dart like we did on you, but unfortunately, one of my men decided that we had to use force on this one. Once the boy wakes up, we’ll ask if he has a headache and we might be convinced to give him something in exchange for information.”

Even without seeing her, James knew that she was smiling. There was something about femme fatales, something he knew by heart and instinct. They weren’t all the same; it would be an insult to every single woman to say that, but they were similar in their behaviours, and their ideas. Under normal circumstances, James would try to flirt with her, she would flirt back; they’d verbally dance around the issue before she’d take him to bed where he’d fuck her, before killing her and her minions.

However, these weren’t normal circumstances, and he felt no desire to do _that_. Not when he – kind of – had Q and was waiting to explore his body, to see if a deaf man knew how to moan.

Throwing a quick gaze into Q’s direction, James couldn’t help but give a sympathetic sigh. While sitting on the ground must have been more comfortable than James’ chair, he didn’t doubt that Q would wake up with a headache, a stiff neck and an aching back. If his sense of time hadn’t suffered from the time he had spent unconscious and drugged, then it must have been around eight – without this incident, they’d be eating breakfast, and maybe could have been kissing already.

He scowled. “May I ask what made you kidnap me and my ‘toy boy’? You stopped us from sharing a wonderful breakfast.”

The woman chuckled lowly. Her hand appeared on James’ shoulder out of nowhere, giving a squeeze. James didn’t tense up, but he felt like shaking her off or biting deep into her fingers. They hadn’t fixed his head, and he had always wanted to pull a ‘Hannibal Lecter’ on a mark. She wasn’t a mark, but she would be close enough to sate his curiosity.

“We saw you and took the chance. Who would let such an opportunity go amiss?”

He hummed instead of giving a reply and settled back again, shrugging her hand off casually. She regarded him – he could feel her gaze resting on his back – before she stepped backwards again, disappearing into the shadows she came from. Without the illusion of being alone, James curled his toes again, trying to keep his feet from falling asleep.

“I do hope you aren’t about to torture me,” James continued talking, trying to tell where she had gone off. She had the shadows as an advantage, the masks and her anonymity; he was trying to get rid of that, to bring them onto an equal level. It was an old trick every agent was supposed to know. “That’d be tedious.”

“Not the word I would have chosen,” the woman chuckled again, stepping right behind James. He experimentally moved, seeing how the masked man immediately drew out a gun, aiming for James’ head. “Please don’t make us shoot you. You’re far too useful for that, and it’d be terrible for the boy.”

_ The boy _ . So far, none of them had made a single move towards Q, who they had just left in the corner tied to the radiator, but only by the wrist of his left hand. Somehow, they knew he was left-handed, but not that they had one of the most important assets of MI6 under their control; otherwise, they wouldn’t bother with James.

He wasn’t stupid; he knew that Q was far more important than he was, that the life of the Quartermaster was worth so much more than his own. It was the truth every agent lived with, the motivation they worked under – protect the more important ones, fight for your country.

For James, Q meant even more to him than that. He was more than just the Quartermaster; he was more than a tool used by M however he pleased. He would protect him with his life, without any hesitation.

They, however, didn’t seem to know that he was MI6’s Quartermaster, they thought of him only as Bond’s boy, and he wasn’t going to fill the gap in their knowledge. Right now, they had an advantage and Q had a chance of getting out of here without his identity being revealed. James grimaced, hiding his amused smirk as he rolled his shoulders, acting as if he was uncomfortable.

“Now, double-oh-seven, we are going to ask you questions and we’d be delighted if you would answer them,” the woman said, still standing behind him. He didn’t need to see her face to know that he’d be _delighted_ to punch it once he got free.

“We’ll see,” he merely replied and settled back down, giving a grunt when the man in the black mask punched him hard. His bones didn’t give in and snap, but he could feel blood run out of his nose, and making a familiar taste on his lips. James looked at the masked man calmly, imagining how much fun it’d be to break his neck, to feel him struggle under his fingers.

Finally, the woman stepped into his line of view.

She was beautiful, James thought, almost tempted to whistle, but not doing so. He had been right about her being Caribbean – her appearance, skin, bone structure hinted to that – but there also was something African about her. With a bit more time, he’d love to muse, and make further assumptions. But he didn’t have it, so he just sighed to himself and regarded her calmly.

It was rare to see women with no hair, yet she was bald; however it suited her, it empathised her high cheekbones and full lips. She was one of those women he’d easily fuck into a mattress, whose skin he’d lick, taste and bite with joy; before Q, he would have started flirting. Before Q, he would have taken her at his first chance. And even though the young man was unconscious, James felt disgust as he thought about it, his cock not taking interest at the images he played inside his head.

James offered her a polite smile, a little fascinated by the brightness of her eyes. They were green, but unlike Q’s, they didn’t sparkle or _shine._

To him, she looked like she was torn between being amused and bored, an interesting yet dangerous combination.

“No need to be rude, double-oh-seven,” the woman pulled a spare chair close and sat down on it, crossing her long legs. He his eyes flickered towards the light bulge in her trousers, but he didn’t comment, figuring that it might be useful information for later, but not right now. “My name is Sanaa. We’re highly interested in some information you might give us, and we’d be capable of giving you something in return.”

“And what would that be?” James asked, just because he was curious.

“His life.” Sanaa pointed at the unmoving form of the Quartermaster on the ground next to them. James followed her finger, taking in Q’s appearance. It looked like they took him off-guard when he had been dressing, his shirt messily buttoned, hair a ruffled mess; he still wore his pyjama bottoms, for god’s sake, a soft fabric with a ridiculous pattern showing little kittens.

It was so ridiculous it already was precious again. But with the blood, which had probably dripped down from his forehead, it looked sick. Something so innocent didn’t belong here.

As James said nothing, Sanaa reached out to dig a sharp fingernail into James’ wrist. It didn’t hurt, but made him return his focus on her, green eyes scanning his body almost lazily. Sanaa hummed and patted James’ knee before she drew away again.

“MI6 used to be in a very obvious building in London,” Sanaa began. “So easy to find and attack. But they’ve gone elsewhere and we’d like to know where to.”

“Somewhere else,” James replied and grinned, even as Sanaa reached out to slap him.

“I do not appreciate humour.”

The agent hummed, tasting a bit of blood, either from his nose or from the slap - he wasn’t too sure. What did matter was that she was a good punch, stronger than she looked with her delicate hands and her thin arms with no apparent muscles. It was a nice trick; he had to admit, since it took him off-guard. He wasn’t so used to that anymore.

“What a shame,” James smirked, seeing that he was annoying her.

Another slap. He moved his head along so the impact wouldn’t be as strong, his eyes falling on Q’s unmoving figure. When he saw that one of Q’s eyes was open, if only a little bit, just enough to see, he carefully shook his head. They would be better off if Q acted as if he was still unconscious; James didn’t want to imagine what they would do to him otherwise.

_ His toy boy _ . The words were a pleasant echo in James’ brain and kept him entertained enough to not try and throw himself against Sanaa with the very chair he was tied to. No doubt her minions would shoot him immediately, but at least he’d get some satisfaction from hurting her.

“He’s beautiful.” Sanaa suddenly stood up and went over to Q, her heels clicking on the ground. To everyone, it would be a reason to look up, even when pretending to be unconscious, but Q’s deafness turned out to be a benefit. He didn’t move, held completely still as the enemy stopped in front of him. “I can see the appeal. It would be a shame to... hurt him.”

James growled, and Sanaa turned to him, laughing. “There is no need to behave like an animal, double-oh-seven. We’re all civilised people here. We won’t do anything to him, not now. But...” She nudged Q’s form with her foot, causing the Quartermaster’s head to slip down a bit and rest against the radiator. His eyes were both closed again, but as Sanaa left and the vibrations reached the deaf man, he dared checking.

Bond, in a spontaneous action, blinked at him. Morse code was something every agent knew, and hopefully Q was no exception. He couldn’t hear it, so knocking against walls, the ground or clapping would be of little use, but he might be able to read it when blinked.

_ Long long long. Long short long. Short short long long short short. _

O-K-?

Q frowned at him, but after he repeated it to himself, he finally nodded.

At least he was ok, James thought, focusing on Sanaa again. She did not notice their exchange, having talked to her minion in a language James didn’t speak nor understand, but now was looking at James, humming lightly.

“I see we are playing insufferable,” she tutted. “I didn’t want to have to use force, double-oh-seven, but you leave me no choice.”

She snapped her finger and the man behind James stepped behind him, holding something shiny in his hand. James let out a long breath, braced himself and closed his eyes as the knife was dug into his shoulder, right behind his collarbone. He grunted, feeling how the man twisted it in his flesh, blood soaking the blue shirt James had decided to put on for breakfast.

He had intended to have breakfast. Instead he got a kidnapping and new wounds – what a wonderful day. He’d bet his hand that it was raining outside, too.

“Are we going to be cooperative now?”

“You have to ask me a question. I don’t want to lecture you on how to do your job, but I can’t cooperate when there’s nothing to ans-”

The knife was pulled out of his shoulder roughly, stopping James mid-sentence. He huffed out a breath and then turned his head slightly, examining the wound. It wasn’t too deep, but it stung like a bitch.

“Where has MI6 moved to?” Sanaa asked, gripping James’ jaw. Her nails were sharp, and dug into his skin with no problem - they even drew a little bit of blood. They must feel lovely on one’s back, the agent mused, like claws. “Answer the question now. Where is your HQ?”

When James didn’t reply – he knew when it was the right moment to cease messing around, knew that now was the time to stop – she gestured to her minion with the knife and stepped backwards. James figured they’d attack his other shoulder, but instead, he got on his knees next to James, took his hand and drove the knife through James’ palm.

Right through the bones too. Whoever they were, they had strength, and turned out to be more dangerous than James had expected.

He couldn’t stop the moan coming from his mouth, the pained gasp as he felt the knife break through, its tip looking up at him as he stared down, not daring to move his hand in case some muscles got hurt. Getting out of here just got a bit harder.

Only a little, but it might be a challenge to the agent. Getting himself and Q out of here with a wounded shoulder and a useless right hand, try not to get killed by the men Sanaa might have outside of this room. The air tasted familiar, yet it wasn’t London’s; it lacked the gases and fumes he grew accustomed to over the years of being here. It was nothing compared to Scotland’s marsh, but a very distinctive aroma in its own.

Trying to figure out where they were distracted James from what they were doing to him. Apparently Sanaa lost her patience, threw questions at James’ head in a sickening speed, words blurring together until James only heard his code name – _007... 007... 007_.

For Queen and Country, James thought as the knife went through his thigh, tearing apart his skin, going straight through an old scar he had from another knife in another country from another woman. He tensed up, tried to work against the pain, but his muscles ached, his instincts screamed and the bloody ropes were too tight for him to break through them.

At least, he thought, Q couldn’t hear him moan and suffer. Couldn’t hear the questions, or the sound of the knife rushing through the air and cutting the skin open.

It was a little comfort.

“I’m getting tired of this game, double-oh-seven,” Sanaa hissed, gesturing to the second man in the room. James, blinking a few times to clear his vision, watched him go to Q, pulling the man up by his hair. Q didn’t move, doing an excellent job at acting like he wasn’t here yet. “You have left me no choice. Say goodby-”

It all happened so quickly that James thought it was like a flashback.

In the moment the man pulled the trigger, Q suddenly moved, the cuffs falling from his wrists like toys. His knee went straight to the man’s crotch, making him bent over. Q’s elbow collided with the other’s neck, pushing the mask off and the man down. One last kick, then he was down, the shot meant for Q’s head going up into the air, the bullet destroying the lamp.

With light falling in from the window, it was bright enough to see shapes, but not what was going on.

James heard the gun, shouts and cursing. A body hit the ground, shuffling of naked feet against the wooden floor. He saw the shapes of two persons, but he couldn’t tell whether it was Q or Sanaa since they were equally thin and approximately of the same height; it was impossible to concentrate with the shouting and the throbbing of his wounds.

“He’s-”

The last shot came with silence. Its echo pulled James out of his trance-like state, made him look around and wait for his eyes to adjust. Someone approached, dragging a body behind them.

When James finally could see, his eyes went wide.

The bullet used in the last shot had fallen to the ground after breaking through Sanaa’s skull, the hole almost big enough to see through. Q let go of her neck and let her crumple to the ground, next to her men in a puddle of blood and brain liquid.

Their masks had been pulled off; two Asian men with bullet holes in their heads, one’s eye shot out of the socket, the rest of it a bloody mess. It looked like a massacre.

Calmly, Q inspected the corpses, before he lifted his head and smirked at James. 

Not once had James seen a single person look this smug and proud of themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Inspector_Javert for beta-reading this chapter for me.

**Author's Note:**

> My knowledge about BSL is from the internet, guides and an app called "MobileSign". If you spot a mistake, please tell me so I can correct it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Book Covers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/721567) by [milky_haven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milky_haven/pseuds/milky_haven)




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